Graceful Escape
by Schuyler Lola
Summary: She reached a hand up to her face, and let the lone tear trickle down. Megancentric. Past fic. COMPLETE! May 16, 2007.
1. Earliest Memories

**Disclaimer: **This is for all chapters of this story. I do not own NUMB3RS. If I did, I'd be drooling over David Krumholtz even more than I do now.

**A/N: **In the episodes _Mind Games_ and _Dark Matter_, Megan and the psychic allude to some things in her past that are kind of secret and a little sensitive for her to revisit. I found her short explanation of them a little too brief, so this idea blossomed, of a story about her life before the FBI.

Chapter 1: Earliest Memories

**September, 1977**

For many years, the Reeves family had been one of the most affluent in the town. The husband was an optometrist, the most successful around there; the wife looked like a supermodel, with long perfect, wavy hair and warm hazel eyes. They had four lovely young daughters: Rosalyn, Jessica, Alannah, and Megan.

They fit the profile of the perfect fairy-tale family: rich, gorgeous, and likeable. Everyone was immediately charmed by them – the loving couple, the picture-perfect children. It came to no surprise to anyone that they were on top of the town's register.

It was a rainy, grey morning that the matriarch of the Reeves family – Charlotte – woke up to. She also woke up to the faint sound of her chattering daughters. She remembered that it was the first day of school. This one was different than the last few, however. Her youngest, her baby, was going to school for the first time.

Charlotte worried about how Megan would adjust to school. Megan was a bright girl; that much was true. But she was completely opposite to the rest of the girls. While the other three did typical girl things, Megan would wander out into the garden and come back hours later, covered in dirt.

She went slowly down the ornate staircase and into the dining room. All four girls were at the table, talking to their father. "Good morning," she announced, kissing Milo on the cheek.

Immediately, she was assaulted with exclamations from all of the girls. Charlotte held up a regal hand. "One at a time. Go ahead, Rosalyn."

Her oldest daughter frowned slightly, creasing her forehead. A lock of dark hair fell across her face. "Mom," she began, hesitating, "I can't find my pink hair clip."

"Check the east wing bathroom," Charlotte replied. "All of the hair clips and such should be in there. I had Lillian find them all for you and put them back into one place. Try to keep them there, please."

"I will." Rosalyn nodded emphatically and continued to eat her pancakes and grapefruit.

"Good. Lillian already does enough for us around here." She turned to serve herself some bacon from the platter in the middle of the large table.

"I don't have to take Megan to kindergarten, do I, Mom?" Jessica asked, wrinkling her nose. At eight years old, she thought herself too old to play or bee seen with her younger siblings.

"No, Alannah will do that, Jess," Milo informed her. "They have classrooms in the same wing, anyhow."

"I'll take care of you, Meg," Alannah said proudly. "School is fun."

"That's because you're only in grade one," Rosalyn mumbled disdainfully. "It isn't any fun now."

"Rosalyn," Charlotte warned.

"It's true, Mom." Rosalyn turned away from her mother and pushed away from the table. "May I be excused?"

"Go ahead." Milo flipped to another section of the paper.

Megan watched her family with wide eyes. They always talked over her head, except Alannah. Most times, she wasn't even listening to them, merely observing them, and during those times they hardly noticed. As the youngest, she got alternately ignored and spoiled. It was a strange pattern, but she tried to accept it. When you're five, you follow what is laid out for you.

"Megan, sweetheart?" She transferred her gaze to her mother, who was smiling at her. "Why don't you go get dressed? Lily put your uniform on your bed. Call her if you need any help."

The little girl nodded and raced up the stairs. Usually, by the time she reached the top, she was tired, but she kept running today. "Whoa, there, Megan," Lillian stopped her from falling. "You'll crash into someone if you're not careful."

She shook her head vehemently. "No, I won't!"

"Of course you won't," the maid agreed genially. "Do you need any help this morning?"

"No, thank you," Megan replied, politely, proud that she had remembered her manners. "I want to it myself, Lily."

"Okay, dear." She ushered the little girl into her bedroom and closed the door. Lillian shook her head as she went down the hall. Megan had an appetite for independence that was bottomless. She was constantly striving to do things for herself, more and more, even if it meant stacking chairs and books to reach her favourite board game. Lillian suspected she knew where that impulse came from "The girls should be coming down shortly, ma'am," she said to Charlotte in the dining room.

"Thank you, Lily." The lady of the house checked the clock. "Milo, are you going to wait until Jason drives them?" referring to their chauffeur.

"I think I can manage that," he said as Alannah came in, trailed by Megan and Jessica.

Charlotte knelt down to straighten Megan's blouse. "You look all ready to start the day."

"When will we go?" she asked, squirming under her mother's scrutiny.

"As soon as Rosalyn comes down here, hon." Charlotte straightened up and smiled at the three girls. "Rosalyn! Hurry up!"

A muffled, "A few more minutes! Please?" came down.

"You have two minutes to get down here!" Milo called. "Or you'll be late!"

Rosalyn emerged, the frown still creasing her forehead. She stood next to Jessica, finishing off the row. Again and again, they stood in the same order, oldest to youngest, a brunette, a redhead, and two blonds.

Milo rose from the table, closing his newspaper, towering over them all. "I'm going to head off." he kissed Charlotte's cheek, nodded at Lillian and knelt to face his four daughters. "Have a good day at school." He hugged each of them in turn, and spun out of the kitchen.

Lillian had left out his coat and hat. An umbrella leaned by the table and he smiled. Their housekeeper was a terrific addition to the household. She'd been there for nine years, and he still marveled over how efficient she was.

"Daddy?"

He turned around slowly, placing his briefcase on the floor. Megan had run out him, her hair falling out of its braid and her blouse coming untucked again. She was perpetually messing up her appearance, but if experience had taught him anything, it was that small children couldn't keep anything neat. He looked forward to the days when they'd be proper young ladies. Or at least, some appropriate facsimiles. "Yes, Megan? I really have to go."

"Oh." Her face fell, and she began to inch away.

"What is it?" he asked, trying to make her feel better.

"I tied my tie myself!" she showed him proudly, but he barely glanced at her.

"I'll see you tonight, sweetie."

The giant door shut behind him, casting a shadow on her face. She chewed her lip, trying to understand why he brushed her off like an annoying gnat.

She stuffed her tiny hands in the pockets of her regulation blazer.

Even then, he'd managed to disappoint her.

* * *

**May, 1979**

Megan slunk in the garden door of the house. She was currently in disgrace and knew it; she would have been reported to her parents by now for sneaking off to play ball hockey instead of going to her ballet lesson.

She'd been fighting to get her way for several months right now. Hushed, whispered conversations with her mother day after day were determining her fate. She would easily bet that her mother hadn't told her father about their arguments yet. For some reason, they hadn't said a word to Milo.

Unlacing her saddle shoes, she tiptoed up the carpeted stairs. She'd gone and torn a hole in her skirt and didn't want anyone to know until after Lillian had stitched it up. At least Lily never gave her up to her parents, unlike the tattle-tales at the dance school.

Alannah was sitting on her bed in the large bedroom. "They know," she said accusingly.

"Oh." Megan's seven year old mind scrambled for an answer, but came up blank. She fumbled with the buttons on her blouse, which was muddy.

"Here." Alannah helped her with tiny buttons. She was Megan's protector and mentor, even though there was only a fourteen-month age difference. "I think they want to see you in the study."

_The study_. Megan swallowed. That meant trouble for her. It was such a little thing, too – she didn't _like _ballet. She didn't want to prance around in a tutu and wear the slippers. She didn't even like pink. Dutifully, she'd gone everyday, walking the half-block from school to the dance school.

Today, however, some of the boys had asked her to play. She was happy that they'd noticed how fierce she played in gym class. So she went. A game of ball hockey sounded like a lot more fun than going to ballet and being told that her posture wasn't good enough, that she didn't jump high enough. Besides, she'd scored four goals and James Kowlaski's mother gave her a grape popsicle.

She tried to brush the knots out of her hair, but gave up and looked over at Alannah. "I think you'd better go," she said.

"Okay."

Megan clutched the railing, feeling the carvings dig into her hands. She almost tripped, concentrating on making her way down the stairs as quietly as possible. The table at the end of the foyer loomed large and scary to her trembling body and she could've sworn that the family portrait was glaring at her. The ghostly eyes followed her slow, scared movements out of the dining room and into the hall.

Usually, finding new routes or taking the longest route possible to any of the rooms in the Reeves mansion made her happy, but right now, Megan was terrified. She wasn't sure what was going to happen, or what her parents would say.

The study door stood slightly ajar, a crack of light going into the darkened hallway. Megan took a deep breath and placed her hand on the glass knob, closing off the light going into the faceted piece. Her striped socks looked very out of place on the exotic rug.

Milo was sitting with his feet on the desk. Charlotte was sitting across from him. "Megan," he said sharply, "you know better than to go into a room with out knocking."

"I'm sorry," she managed, feeling her lower lip quiver.

Charlotte softened a little, upon seeing how distressed Megan was. "Go sit on the chair, Megan."

The girl obeyed, sitting on the edge of the chair, holding onto one of the armrests for security.

"We got a call today saying that you didn't go to ballet after school. Is true?" her mother asked.

"Yes." Megan nodded robotically.

"Why did you skip ballet?"

She shifted uncomfortably, her pants scratching the chair fabric. "I…I went to…"

"Yes? Continue," her father snapped impatiently, making her even more scared.

"I – I went to play at James Kowalski's house." The words rushed out of her. "They asked me at lunch recess, to go play 'cause I'm good at ball hockey. I didn't want to go to ballet." She crossed arms with finality, that defiant look back, her chin stuck out.

"Megan." Charlotte crossed the room to kneel in front of her daughter. Megan stopped swinging her legs and stared her mother in the eyes. Her large grey-green eyes searched the hazel pair across from her, hoping for some sort of reprieve. "I'm offering you a deal okay?"

She nodded, her hair bouncing. "If you finish out the month without skipping your ballet lesson, we'll put you in whatever sports you want. But you won't be reading any comics or watching cartoons for the next two weeks, until we tell you that you can. Do you understand?" Charlotte inquired.

"Okay." Megan started to get up, but Milo held up a hand.

"I'm warning you, Megan, you do that ever again…"

The youngest of his daughters paled, clearly getting his message. "You can go to your room until suppertime."

She scampered off, the study door banging behind her, shaking the wall. "Milo," Charlotte began quietly. "Don't you think that was a little harsh?"

"What?" he shot back.

"She was already scared. She's a little girl."

"She's free-spirited. More trouble than she's worth."

Charlotte shook her head, laughing. "I think she's very much like her father."

"What do you mean?" he asked, leaning on his desk, looking over at his wife of fifteen years.

"When Megan looks at me like she does – you'll see it, too – I see you staring at me," she explained. "The resemblance is uncanny."

Milo looked at the portrait of the four girls hanging over his smallest bookshelf, then back at Charlotte. "I don't know what you're talking about, dear."

She smiled, gliding to the door, her long limbs gracefully skimming the Persian rug. "I didn't expect you to know right now, Milo." She wrapped a hand around the doorknob, much like Megan had earlier. She cast her eyes directly into his face, holding his gaze for optimum effect. "But you'll notice it as she gets older. Oh, you definitely will see it in her eyes. Wait a few years and you'll see it."

Leaving him to ponder that statement, she shut the heavy wooden door with a gentle click.


	2. Revelations

**A/N: **Thanks for the reviews! I appreciate them very much. This chapter I'm dedicating to my friend Joanna, because she was kind enough to make sure our March Break party was tomorrow, so I can post this.

I haven't been getting any alerts for anything. Has anyone else?

Chapter 2: Revelations

**November, 1981**

The whole class was watching the clock, waiting for the moment when the bell would ring and they would be set free into the real world again, with the promise of coming back in a few days. The teacher eyed each one of her students and threw up her hands. "Alright! Put away your books, I'll see you on Monday."

Chatter and laughter filled the classroom as kids started to get ready. Megan slowly pushed her chair back, and winced, hearing it scrape against the floor.

Today was Friday, and like so many other Fridays, students were talking about the weekend. Weekends never really excited her, but this one was different. It was the first major basketball tournament that her team was playing in. She'd been extremely excited when she'd made the state atom team. That was a huge accomplishment for her, and Jessica had complained about how her voice was getting hoarse form cheering at all the games. Megan was just glad that she had done something that had impressed her sisters, if only a little bit. She craved approval; it was her drug.

Her teacher, Ms. LeBlanc smiled down at her. "Good luck this weekend, Megan." There were only sixteen students in the class, a point the private school prided itself on. Everyone had known each other for years, and it wasn't hard to learn even the basic details about one another.

"Thank you," Megan replied, smiling back gratefully.

"You're welcome. Tell me how it went on Monday, okay?"

Megan nodded and followed the crowd of kids that were pouring out of classrooms and into the hallway. She shuffled along, not really having to move her feet; the kids behind her pushed her along. She didn't like being so small and easy to move, but that's the way it was. Jessica assured her that she would grow. It seemed like a long time coming.

"Hey, come on," Alannah called, appearing from the crowd, grabbing Megan's arm.

"What?"

"Come on," she repeated, pulling Megan out onto the sidewalk. "You have to see what we found."

"Who? What are you talking about?" Megan broke free to face Alannah, one hand clutching her book bag strap.

Her sister's eyes sparkled. "We finally found it, today at lunch."

"Found what?"

"Honestly, Megan, you can be kind of dense sometimes. Do you remember what we've been looking for at all?"

"The door to the roof?"

"Yes!" Alannah jumped up and down. "It's-" she looked around. "Never mind, I'll show you." She walked Megan down the sidewalk. "When Jess and I went home for lunch, we searched upstairs after we were done. It's incredible."

The two girls ran through the gates and up the stone driveway, not pausing to wave at the gardener. The door was flung open, coats and bags dropped in the corner, and the patter of feet flying up the steps.

"Don't you think Jess and Rosalyn will be mad that we went up without them?"

Alannah shook her head. "Don't be silly, Meg. They won't be home for another hour, and they couldn't possibly expect us to wait for them." She paused at the attic doorway and turned back to gaze at Megan. "Besides, Mom is out, and Lily is cooking supper. This is the only time we have."

"The only window of opportunity, you mean." Megan followed her into the musty cavern.

"You read too much." Alannah reached for a light switch, and the room grudgingly flickered into focus.

Megan blinked, waiting the few seconds she always did before her eyes adjusted to the dim light. Everything looked the same – boxes, bookshelves, old clothes and rolled-up rugs were still stacked all over the place. This was where all the mismatched, shabby objects ended up.

"We need to move these," Alannah instructed, leaning on a stack of boxes. She struggled to lift one until Megan climbed on a chair to help her better.

After all of the boxes had been removed, a small doorway was revealed. Megan looked at it dubiously, seeing all of the cobwebs and dirt that had been knocked out of the way. Alannah got down, crouching to fit inside, beckoning for Megan to follow her. "Try not to get too dirty," she warned.

"I know, I know." Megan looked ruefully at her uniform. She was notorious for violating the uniform standards at school for getting banged up at recess.

The stairs' opening got larger as they went up, but not much. Megan sucked in her stomach as if to compact her frame even more and to keep her distance from the wall.

Alannah pushed open a door and ducked slightly to go through it. She pulled Megan through the doorway and onto a little plateau. It was windy and Megan hastily shoved her long hair into a ponytail. That was one of her compromises: she couldn't get her hair cut as short as she wanted. It was a small price to pay in order to something she liked, like basketball.

"You can see for miles," she said. "Maybe into the next county."

"No, you can't," Alannah scoffed. "But it sure seems like it."

"I bet we could see the Independence Day fireworks really well from up here." Megan sat on the roofing tiles, ignoring the scratchy, cold surface. "Or maybe the New Year's Eve fireworks."

"I don't think we'd be able to. Mom and Dad would say no."

Megan stood up again, to watch all of the tiny people and cars move around on the streets. Their house wasn't that at all, but in the quiet neighbourhood, it dominated the skyline. From up on the roof, she could see everything she wanted to see.

There was a faint cry from inside of the house. "Did you hear that, Alannah?" The older girl shook her head. The call came again:

"Alannah Marie! Megan Norah!! Get down here this instant!"

Alannah started to laugh. "I think we're in for it now."

"Oh, yeah." Megan covered her mouth to try and keep her giggles from becoming too loud. "Do you think she knows we're up here? There's a small chance it might be something else."

"There's only one way to find out."

With that, the two girls fled from the roof, leaving only a scrap of paper behind as evidence they were there.

* * *

**July, 1983**

Rosalyn ushered Megan into her bedroom and plunked her in front of the vanity. "I don't see why I have to sit here and let you turn me into a beauty queen," the younger girl muttered. "We're just going to see a movie."

"Exactly." Rosalyn tucked her dark hair away and rummaged through the drawers. "We're going to a movie, with my friends. I have the car. You have to come, because it's the only way I'll get the car, and I can't take you looking like you do!"

"Looking like what?" She didn't think there was anything wrong with how she looked. It was a hot summer day. The point was to relax, not to boil. "We're going to a movie. All that means is that we'll go, buy tickets, maybe get some popcorn and sit in the dark for two hours. Big deal."

"You have a lot to learn before you go to high school." Rosalyn smiled. "And lucky you, I'm here to help you."

"More like unlucky me," Megan mumbled.

"I heard that." She opened her closet door and shuffled through the clothes. "You could probably wear something of mine, you're so tall."

She'd gotten her wish: to grow. But like all wishes that were granted, there was a downside. She was five-foot-six, going into the seventh grade, and still growing. She found it easier to play basketball now, but she hated sticking out in a crowd. She was practically a landmark. Now her wish was hat everyone else would hurry up and grow so she would blend in.

"Here." Rosalyn pressed some clothes on her. "Go put these on."

Megan put them on; knowing the only way they would ever leave the house was if she agreed. She stepped back in the room, her arms wrapped protectively around her waist, feeling completely unlike herself. "Is this alright?"

"You look great." Rosalyn beamed, adjusting Megan's shirt. "Okay, now for the rest of your transformation."

"I feel really weird," Megan announced. "You better not let our dear parents see me like this."

"Wear a sweater as we leave and no one will even notice."

"It's a hundred and fifty degrees out there! I can't wear a sweater!"

"It'll only be for a few minutes. You can take it off when we're in the car. Do you want to go to this movie or not?"

"Yes." Megan sat sullenly.

She brushed Megan's hair out of its ponytail. "What shall I do with you?" she paced around Megan, eyeing each one of her features. "You'll look beautiful when I'm done, don't worry about that."

"Will I look like me when you're done?" Megan challenged.

"You will." Rosalyn rolled her eyes. "You'll have to look like you; otherwise you won't be allowed to leave the house until you're twenty-one. A sweater is one thing; I can't stick a paper bag over your head and make it look normal on the way out."

"It might be funny, though."

"Typical Megan. You find humour in some of the weirdest things."

"It wasn't – never mind."

"Okay, so I'm just going to put on some light makeup. Accentuate your feature, that sort of thing."

Megan nodded, not really understanding what she was talking about. That may have been connected to the fact that she wasn't really listening.

Rosalyn started to brush some powder onto her face. "You know, Megan, you're really pretty. You could do so much with your looks if you tried. Like stop wearing those boring clothes. It's bad enough we have uniforms."

"Thanks, I guess."

"Don't worry, it's a compliment." Rosalyn tilted Megan's chin downward. "Look straight ahead. But I get why you are the way you are."

"I really don't think there's much to get, Rose."

"You mean you don't know?"

"I'd say, 'Don't know what?' but I have a feeling you'll tell me anyway."

"I – I don't know. Do you want to know?" She swiped some mascara over Megan's eyelashes. "I thought you knew."

"What do you think?"

"Fine." She sighed. "I don't believe that you haven't noticed, but oh well." She stopped fixing Megan's hair and sat on the bed. "When you were born, Dad was – well, he wasn't the most overjoyed of the bunch." Rosalyn cringed and gave a sad look to Megan's wide, listening eyes. "He wanted a son."

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, God." Rosalyn twisted her hands together. "After three girls, he wanted a boy. And when you weren't a boy…well…"

"Tell me, Rose!"

"He hasn't really learned to accept it, to put it mildly."

Megan stared at her hands, thinking about everything her sister had said. It made sense. Perfect sense, I fact, if she looked back over the little things in her life. She felt her body deflate. She was a deflated balloon.

"Megan? Meg? Are you going to be okay?"

Rosalyn was watching her react to this tidbit. "Yeah. I'm fine." Megan forced a smile. "Are you done with the makeup?"

"You know we don't have to go…"

"No. You want to go, I want to go."

"If you say so." Rosalyn kept fixing up Megan's face and gave her hair one last brush. "What do you think?"

Her first thought was that she looked almost too good to be herself. "It's good," she said faintly.

"Here's a sweater." She was tossed a light button-up one. "Okay. Are you ready to go?"

"I think so."

After all, it was a truth she had known for a long time. Right?

* * *

Megan sat at the top of the stairs, listening. "Why did you tell her?" her mother's voice fiercely whispered.

Rosalyn's came back just as harsh. "Because she needs to know, Mom. She should at least know why he ignores her."

"That's not for you to decide!"

"That's not for him to decide, either!"

She got up and crept back down the hall into the sanctity of her room.


	3. Friends and Family

**A/N: **Reviews are always appreciated…they help the laborious writing process. And I like hearing what people think, surprisingly. So…if you have an opinion on this, please tell me! Just don't be too mean. And thanks to everyone who has reviewed!

I was listening to Norah Jones while I wrote this. She's really inspiring, actually. And I'm going to credit her music with being my source of inspiration this chapter. And since she probably doesn't read NUMB3RS fan fiction, I digress. I'll shut up now. Here's the story.

Chapter 3: Friends and Family

**March, 1985**

"Okay." Megan drummed her fingers on the table, waiting. She wondered what made her stay here, but still she sat, watching. "Where have you been, Jeremy?"

He sat across from her, glaring. "Where have _you_ been, Meg? The last anyone heard of you was on Tuesday, when you went to rugby practice."

"I've been here." She shrugged, avoiding her best friend's gaze.

"No, you haven't. We're in the same damn classes. You think I don't notice when you're gone, Reeves? You only came to three of five classes yesterday."

"So? It's the dead of winter. We're not doing anything anyway, because everyone is too bored and sick of being cooped up."

Jeremy shook his head. "You wouldn't have said that last year, Megan. You're smart; you're still up there as grades go. We're going to high school next year. Shape up. You've cut classes four times this week. Are you trying to get suspended?"

"No. God, Jeremy! I'm not that stupid." She picked up her backpack. "Take a break! I'm not going to cut anymore."

"Get caught?" He leaned back and smirked at her.

She didn't say anything, confirming his suspicions. "I told you," he growled. "You never listen, you know that?"

"You've said so more than once."

"Look, I don't want to argue with you. I just don't want you getting into more trouble because you like to piss off your dad. It's not a good enough reason." He stood up. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"I'll see you tomorrow," she echoed.

Megan pulled herself up from the concrete picnic table. It was freezing outside, and she had to pry her legs up from becoming a temporary part of the school's courtyard.

She wound her way around snowdrifts and icy puddles to the front door of her house. "You're late," Charlotte said flatly, standing with her arms crossed.

"I know. I'm sorry. I'll be-"

"Upstairs? Yes, you will be."

"Could I at least go get a drink of water? You wouldn't want me to die of dehydration, would you?"

Charlotte let out a strangled breath. It might be preferable, considering the way Megan had been acting as of late. "That's it. Then you go upstairs. Your father wants to talk to you when he gets home, and you know what that means."

Megan nodded. "Yes, Mom." Subdued, she went into the spacious kitchen and opened the fridge. "Lily, do you think there's a way to come between being ignored and being screamed at?"

The housekeeper looked over at the teenager with a knowing expression. "Are you having a talk with your father tonight?"

"Yes," she grumbled. "I mean, I know, and he knows, you'd think there'd be a way to solve it, but no!"

"If you're looking for empathy or advice, you won't get it here." Lillian gave her a wry grin. "I took all the calls from your screaming secretary who insisted I must know where you were."

"Oh." Megan put her empty glass on the counter. "You won't have to do it again. Jeremy called me down on it."

"I knew I liked that boy." she frowned suddenly. "Now, skedaddle, before you get into more trouble."

"Okay." She started to leave the kitchen, but turned around. "If you want to know, I was in the library."

"You're a handful, Megan Reeves."

She felt a little better after talking to Lily. She suspected it was because Lillian never tried to tell her she was wrong; their conversations were a little nicer than that. Lillian drew it out for her and Megan pieced the picture back together.

Mounting the staircase, she flew over the floor into her room, where she shut the door loudly to prove she could follow some instruction.

The talk with her father would consist of many things, including his opinion and not her own. It didn't matter what Megan thought or didn't think; he believed in that "children should be seen and not heard" crap. She hated that. He would also have her sit across from him, a desk for a buffer, in the study. It was more like two colleagues having a business meeting – no, more like the CEO of a company lecturing the little employee.

And the lectures – oh, the lectures. Privately, Megan though her father should've been a politician, not an optometrist, because he could come up with a ten-minute, completely boring lecture off the top of his head. She usually fell asleep – more or less about two minutes in.

She sat on the floor and peeled off her tights. If anything, she was going to get out of her ugly uniform and be comfortable when her father decided to list off all of her faults.

Megan had spent the last two years developing a defense mechanism against Milo. She decided that relying on his approval was crazy; she would never get it, so she chased after his disapproval. A much easier goal, considering she could anger him with pretty much anything at any given moment.

The point that bothered her the most was that while she appeared to enjoy his anger, she still wanted his pride in her. It had taken her many late nights of tossing and turning, and all the classes that she skipped to spend in the library, but she knew what was really going on her mind now. Or as much as any teenager could possibly know.

She opened her binder, some folded pieces of paper falling to the floor. They were notes, traded back and forth between her and another friend, Lacey King. Lacey had slipped her a note on the way out of history class. _Hey, you're back. It's about time. Library, again? You spend more time in there than the librarian does. Tell me what happened with you old man, okay?_

Lacey and Jeremy spent too much time worrying. She wasn't about to go off the deep end, or be locked up for the rest of her life. She wasn't stupid enough to do anything illegal or dangerous. Her parents liked to think she was more trouble than she actually was.

A knock sounded at the door. "Megan? Dad wants to talk to you. now," Jessica said, her voice muffled by the wood.

"I'm coming."

"I'm not going to debate what that would mean to him. You're stalling."

"Fine." Megan shut her light off and took the stairs two at a time, clattering around. She walked the long way around the house, through the living room, the foyer, the kitchen, dining room and finally into the hallway. Holding her head high, she placed her hand on the door knob, twisted and strode into the cold study to await her fate.

* * *

**September, 1986**

They stood on the front steps. More accurately, she was sitting and he was standing. "Did it get bigger since orientation?" Jeremy asked.

"I don't know. They might've poured water on the building to make it bigger." Megan hugged her knees to her chest. "I don't think it's that big."

"You have a distorted view from down there." Jeremy took her hand and dragged her up.

"Oh, wow." She craned her neck at the building. "Holy crap. It _is_ bigger."

"I told you." He leaned on the railing. "It looks exactly the same, just bigger."

"We can't stand here all morning, debating the size of the school." She picked up her bag.

"That's interesting," he replied. "Eternal rebel Megan Reeves doesn't want to be late for class."

"I'm trying to turn over a new leaf, Jeremy. Let me."

He raised his eyebrows. "What?" she demanded.

"Nothing," Jeremy grunted. "Lacey!"

The perky brunette ran over. "Hey. What are you doing here so early?"

"We're trying to figure out whether or not the school grew overnight," Megan said.

"I'm pretty sure it did, but I don't think we can ask that question today." Lacey smiled cheekily. "Maybe after the first week."

"Come on," Megan stated abruptly. "Let's go check the lists." She hated the snide must-be-freshmen looks the older students were giving one another about the trio.

She led the way into the shadowy school, blinking at the sudden light change and the crowds. There were so many kids at this school, much more than her old one, and she suddenly felt unsure of herself. To cover up her insecurity, she glared at the guys standing directly in front of the freshmen homeroom lists. She snapped out a, "Move. Can't you see that people are trying to get to class?"

One of them smirked down at her. "Looks like at least one of these little kids has an attitude."

"I didn't ask you to comment, I asked you to move!" she hissed.

He snatched her wrist. "And I didn't ask for your opinion, bitch. I'd keep my mouth shut." The group sauntered off.

"Good job, Megan," Lacey groused. "I heard you were turning over a new leaf."

"You know, no more insulting people because you can, cutting class, doing things just to make other people angry," Jeremy added.

"Oh, look, I'm in room 2041" Megan exclaimed, obviously avoiding their statements. "And, Lace, you're in 211. Jeremy, you're in 202."

"Megan, come on. Talk," Lacey ordered. "What happened between two days ago and now to make you crazy?"

She shut her eyes, trying to stay calm. _They were standing in the middle of the foyer, screaming at one another, again. Just another peaceful night in the Reeves house. He was upset because she had been trying to spend her last night of freedom in comfort – lounging on the couch, watching TV and eating junk food, at nearly eleven o'clock at night. She was upset because there was no real reason he was yelling at her except the obvious one that no one would touch. She was tired of these fights. _"The thought of school starting again."

"Sure. We believe you." Jeremy taped her on the shoulder. "See you later."

"Yeah. See you later." She turned to the main staircase, an impressive piece of architecture that she completely ignored. The whole school was lovely, but she had other stuff to think about. Like the fact that she couldn't figure out where her homeroom was. Weren't all the rooms with a two as the first digit on the second floor? Megan was on the second floor. So where the hell was room 204?

She carved a path through the crowds of lounging students, looking around. She must've looked scared and lost, because a teacher stopped her. "Do you need any help?"

"Yes, please. I'm looking for room 204," Megan replied.

"It's on the first floor, wing off the auditorium hallway."

"What?" she sputtered. "I mean…"

"I know." The teacher laughed. "Most people can't figure out this place either. You're a freshman?"

"Yes. Thank you for the directions."

"I teach advanced English at the grade nine level," the woman offered. "Maybe I'll see you there."

_Yeah, maybe. If I show up to class. But I might come today, anyway, because I promised my parents I'd try not to jeopardize my grades at all. _"Thank you," she repeated.

Megan stopped at the top of the stairs, trying to get her bearings. This school was so confusing, and the more she walked around in it, the more she was confused.

Jessica appeared, extracting herself from her posse of seniors and grabbed Megan's arm. "Have a problem?"

"Show me the way to room 204?" she asked. "Please?"

"You're so geographically challenged." Jessica started to walk. "Coming?"

She took one last look at the doors, longing to run out of them. "Coming."

* * *

"How was school?" Milo asked, trying to break the silence of his family at the dinner table. "Jessica? Alannah? Megan? How was your first day of high school?"

"Fine," she said shortly, jabbing a piece of meat, as if trying to make sure it was dead.

He watched aggressively attack the rest of her food on her plate. "There's no need to mutilate your food that way."

Charlotte excused herself from the table. Jessica and Alannah stared at their plates. "I'm eating. Has that become a crime now, too?" Megan demanded tartly.

"There's also no need to talk back!" he snapped.

"Well, sorry." She took a drink of milk. "You'd swear I robbed a bank or something."

"I'm tired of having the same conversation every night!" Milo fired at her. "Do we need to ruin every meal?"

"I don't know, Dad. Do you need to remark on every little thing?"

"Dammit, Megan!"

She pushed her chair back. "May I be excused?" Without waiting for a dismissal, she got up anyway, her ponytail swinging regally behind her.

Milo gritted his teeth. She knew how to get under his skin in every little way possible.

And the scary thing was, his anger was reflected in her eyes.


	4. Messy Endings

**A/N: **Thanks for all of the reviews. They make me really, really happy. And to meganreeves, ha, I was waiting to see what you would say. Thanks!

Okay, I must give my not-so-expert opinion on "Democracy". It was pretty good. I didn't like it as much as "One Hour", but we can't have episodes like that all the time. SDKG Electronics, founded two years ago? That's the most obvious shout out _ever_. I was doubled over, laughing. And at the end, with Megan: even though we all know Diane Farr must leave us _very_ soon – I felt really, really bad for Megan.

And on with the story:

Chapter 4: Messy Endings

**October, 1987**

"In the library again, Megan?" The amuse voice of the teacher she'd first met at the prep school, Ms. Ryan, woke her from the writing stupor she was in.

"I, uh, wanted to get a head start on my paper," she replied, gesturing to the papers all over the table. Ms. Ryan was still teaching her advanced English, as she moved on to the next grade level.

"You know some students actually leave the school when they're skipping their fifth period enriched chemistry," the young teacher pointed out.

Megan looked up, startled. _Busted_. "I checked out your schedule trying to figure out your preferences for actually going to class," Ms. Ryan explained. "I have a free period, right now, so…" she shrugged. "I thought I'd check up on you."

"I hope you aren't going to tell Mr. Colwell where I've been," Megan pleaded. "I really don't need anymore reasons for my father to ground me."

"Hence you're staying in school to tell him you never left," Ms. Ryan said. "Clever." she pushed a sheet of paper at Megan. "Why should I be worried? You're not skipping my class. At least not yet." She smiled brightly. "Here's some work to keep you busy."

"Oh. Thanks?"

Ms. Ryan laughed. "I don't want you completely wasting your time." She patted Megan's arm and stood up. "And Megan?"

"Yes?"

"Try to get to class once in a while. I don't want to see you repeating a year because you missed one too many days. I know your grades aren't in jeopardy yet…"

"They won't be," Megan assured her. As much as Megan liked to irk the adults around her by doing annoying, troublesome and fairly tame rebellious acts, she didn't really want to let down her English teacher, whom she actually liked.

She dove back into writing down ideas for her English paper. There were so many different thoughts that she had, so many different topics to go on that she couldn't wait to let them all out onto paper. She could go to chemistry and sit through a lesson, or get a head start on a paper she wanted to write. It was a no-brainer kind of situation.

The door to library swung open and a gum-chewing, slightly dishevelled girl came in. Megan recognized her – she was that scholarship student. The first one at the school, and she was still pointed at and whispered about. What was her name, anyway? Martina something, she knew that much. Whoever, she was, she was really pretty, with shiny dark hair and topaz eyes. Megan touched her own hair.

"Megan Reeves?" she asked, sitting down at the table.

"Who wants to know?" Megan immediately flung out.

"Martine MacLeod." She craned her neck to look at Megan's paper. "You know, from what I've heard about you, since you're the resident bad-ass and all, you'd be out smoking pot or something by the front door, instead of writing a paper on Shakespeare and whether or not he was a great playwright or whatever that is."

"Do you believe everything you hear?" she asked.

"Not anymore." Martina put her feet on the table. "This ritzy school is so disappointing, anyhow. Everyone's too perfect for words, and when I find the one person who's vaguely human, it turns out she's kipping class to write some essay and hasn't realized the bell has rang."

"It did?" Megan started to gather her stuff up. "I am in so much trouble." again, Megan was under strict orders to come home straight from school, as soon as the bell rang. Her freedom was being lopped off, chunks at a time.

Today, as he flew in the front door, Milo was waiting there. "Dad," Megan said, stalling. "You're home early. Good day at work?"

"Cut the crap, Megan," he snapped. "I got a call about you today."

"Did you?" she asked absently. "I'll be upstairs, doing my homework."

He grabbed her shoulders and shook. "Like hell you will. I got a call about the fact you have skipped four classes in the last three days. Did I or did I not make it clear to you that under no circumstances you were to cut class?"

"Yes, you did." She sighed, knowing they were already in the argument. "I-"

"I made it very clear to you," he hissed. "You will go to your classes."

"So I didn't. What now?" she yelled; trying to bring the fight to a level she could deal with. "Hanging? Death by lethal injection? I'm grounded for the next three months, on top of my other groundings, right?"

'Six," he informed her, his voice cold. "You have gone too far this time, Megan."

"Too far? _Too far_!" Her voice was creeping into the highest possible octave without becoming too high to be heard by humans. "So I miss a few classes? Big deal1 I have good grades! I'm not a druggie, I don't party, I listen to most of the crap you shove down my throat by you!"

"Clearly, you missed some of those lessons along the way! I didn't teach you to act this way! Your sisters were never this rude! You are pushing the limits!"

"Dad, I…" She slumped, her voice raspy from yelling. "I tried so hard. Either you didn't notice or didn't care. What more do I have to do?"

Milo stared at his youngest daughter, unblinking. She was just as furious as he was. "You have to do what you're told."

"Which is?"

He frowned at her crisp tone. "I want you to start attending class regularly. And I want you to stop picking these fights."

"I don't. You do." She ran up the steps. A few second later, a door slammed.

Charlotte rested her head in her hands in the living room. These shouting matches were becoming more and more frequent – every day, every month, every week, every day, once a meal. Megan would skip class, they'd argue. He would forget about her rugby or basketball finals, she would stew in silence and then they would yell at one another. It was the cycle that never stopped. She feared that when it did stop, the repercussions would be greater than they cared for.

She sighed. Milo and Megan were so alike that they ended up in a stalemate constantly. She did her best to stay out of there brawls, but she heard Megan complain about how it was impossible to please Milo, so she'd given up. She heard Alannah's soothing reply. In turn, she listened to Milo rage about how Megan didn't care about school, how she'd managed to slowly chisel away their reputation by just shunning the idea of cotillions and debutante balls. She sat and listened, and let him blow off steam. So he wouldn't take it out fully on Megan.

* * *

**May, 1988**

With shaking hands, she opened her closet door. This was the last straw. She was out of ideas, out of ways to get his attention, out of steam. Even someone as combative as Megan couldn't keep this up. She was wiped from having to have her shield up all the time. If they were awake, there were three states they could be found in: fighting, going to fight, or just completed their fight _du jour_. It was exhausting, and Megan tried to remember what it was like to be pleasant to her father. She came up blank. There was no such thing as a pleasant conversation for them.

Tonight had been the lowest point of their daily arguments. She wasn't sure how it had happened, but her chair ended up knocked over and she was screaming at Milo, her face red and her throat becoming scratchy from the stress of her yelling.

He was standing, too, and he looked…monstrous. Like his rage had transformed him from being the respectable man and father the community knew into some grotesque, uncontrollable beast. For all of the anger she harboured against him, she'd never been scared during their fights. Tonight, she'd stopped yelling and just stared at him, noting the expression on his face and knowing she'd finally crossed the line that she'd been threatening to cross since she was eleven. The night she found out why they were the way they were had been the turning point. Now, they were past the point of no return.

In the depths of her closet, she found what she was looking for: a duffel bag. She shook it out and laid it on the floor. Her decision was made a long time ago. Now it was time to execute her plan.

A sharp rap sounded at the door and Megan jumped, kicking the bag under her bed. She made sure it was hidden and that she was lying on her bed before calling out, "Yes?"

"Megan?" Alannah opened the door, calming Megan's pounding heart. She sighed and sat up.

"Hey, Alannah."

"When are you guys going to stop?" she asked. "This is insane. Every night!"

"I'll stop when he stops."

"That's completely immature." Alannah crossed her arms. "If you haven't noticed, we're suffering, too." She turned to leave, annoyed.

"Alannah? I'm sorry." Megan rested her chin on her arm. She was sorry, for so many things.

"I know. It's not totally your fault."

The door clicked shut again and Megan was left to her own devices. She reached for the bag again. For good measure, she snapped up her partially filled backpack and set it out on the bed. In a fit of paranoia, she locked the door. There. That was good. It really wouldn't be a good idea to have someone walk in right about now. She hit a button on her stereo, allowing the music to cover the sounds of her movements. Experience had taught her to keep her plans under wraps and her actions masked.

This was an exercise in seeing what she needed and what was just there in her room, for reasons unknown. Megan sat on her bed slowly, staring around, her eyes scanning everything before she chose it. She packed everything tightly together, straining to zip the bag closed. Phase 1 was done. Onto Phase 2, with a pen in her hand.

Megan knew that this was the hard part. She couldn't get up and leave without anything. It was kind of clichéd to leave a note, but what was she going to do? Go downstairs and say, "Hey, Mom, Dad, I'm leaving. And possibly never coming back. Good luck trying to stop me." That wouldn't work. So, a note it was. Her blank paper was providing no ideas.

Phase 3 involved waiting for the opportune moment (i.e. very early morning) to sneak out. Ha. She could think of something to write during her wait of several hours. She was far too nervous to sleep.

Finally, she was struck with an idea. Not a very good one, but, hell, neither was leaving home at sixteen, so she might as well keep this pattern. Of course, she hadn't really left yet, so she was only 0 for 1. In a matter of time, she'd be 0 for 2.

_May 17, 1988_, she wrote in the corner. Somehow, writing the date made her feel a little less nervous. There was some security in time. _I'm sorry. I can't do it. I'm out_, she wrote, signing her name with a flourish.

* * *

The moonlight danced through the windows, doors and off mirrors and other objects, making shadows that made Megan's spine tingle. It was extremely early, but still dark enough to unnerve her in her sleepless, jumpy state. She pulled on a jacket, knowing it would be far too arm outside for it anyway. She carried her shoes to the door and placed them on the rug beside her bags. Where to put the note? It had to be seen immediately in the morning, when they'd get up.

She whirled around the foyer, looking for a place to stick the piece of notebook paper. It was her lifeline, an attempt at an explanation.

The note finally found its place on the table, place neatly on top of the lace doily, where the mail would find its rest later on in the morning.

Megan gnawed her lip as she took a final look around the house. It wasn't all bad.

Picking up her bags and slinging them over her shoulders, she picked up the piece of paper beside her shoes with an address on it. She slipped out the door, making sure to lock it again.

At the gates, she glanced back, as if to make sure the Reeves house would still be there, if she ever decided to come back. She knew the answer to that, even now.

She let out the deep breath she'd been holding. This was the end of this part of her life.

On the sidewalk, Megan held her head high and walked briskly to dispel her steady-growing self-doubt.

* * *

Did you like it? If so, press the pretty little review button.

This is the last up date for a little while, as I must focus on my speech, instead of writing. Ha. Yeah, right. It won't be that long of a delay. Like, no more than a week.


	5. Ready for the Storm

**A/N: **So I hurried on this one and now you have a new chapter. Hurray! And thank you again for all the reviews, I love hearing what you guys think. I liked all the comments about the "pretty little button." I didn't think it would get that much response, but okay.

So…one last thing. Repeats until the 30th? How am I supposed to get any inspiration? DVD sets, here I come.

Chapter 5: Ready for the Storm

**July, 1990**

The bus station was full, with people bustling around, carrying bags and boxes, yelling to one another and checking tickets. "Bus 71093 to New York is running one hour late," a voice said over the PA system in the terminal.

Megan frowned at her ticket. "Just my luck," she murmured to the ground. "That's my bus."

Lady Luck had been kind to her thus far. Megan had managed to finish high school, with honours. She'd applied to some schools, with a little success – but she wasn't going anywhere. The tuition costs had been enough to make her scream. Her job as a cashier after-school, evenings and weekends had been barely enough to cover her room in the questionable boarding house. Beyond that, she had what she'd left her home with.

Dejected, Megan sank into a seat, dropping her stuff at her feet. She pulled her knees up to her chest and closed her eyes. Another hour of waiting. What the hell was wrong with public transportation? Did it scream "let's get tied up in a traffic jam"? It was almost eleven on a Saturday morning. Everyone should be at home, on vacation, or working. Saturday mornings are not supposed to be busy!

She felt someone sink into the chair beside her and shift around. "I hate waiting," a young male voice said. "Where are you going?"

"Manhattan," she replied, opening her eyes and blushing a bit. She stuffed the classified section of the newspaper back into her backpack. "Where are you going?"

"Same as you," he offered her a hand. "I'm Max Redding."

"Megan Reeves," she responded, smiling. He was adorable, with sandy brown hair and brown eyes. Talking wouldn't be a crime, especially since she'd barely talked to anyone in the last few months, trying to cram everything into the short time span she was given to work with.

"What are you going to do in Manhattan?" he asked. "On vacation?"

"I'll be doing this and that," Megan said evasively. "You know. I'm looking for a job."

"I'm going to work in my grandfather's office for the summer," Max explained. "It helps pay for school."

"Oh? Where do you go?" she asked eagerly.

"RISD."

"Oh," she repeated. An artsy type. She wasn't sure what she was. A jock? Not really; she'd given up sports a while ago. A rebel? She was too tame for that. A drifter? Probably. Megan Reeves, the drifter. A delightful, depressing title. She cringed as thoughts of what her future would be like. _It's fine! _she yelled at her conscience. _I just need some money. That's all! _A cold panic settled over her body, but she shoved it away in the cavity of her brain where all of the unwanted feelings, thoughts, and facts went to be stored until she was ready to deal with them. There would be a lot of emotional baggage in ten years.

"Where do you go?" he asked, peering at her intently.

"Columbia," she lied. Well, she'd been accepted, at the very least. She could be going there. "I, uh, start this year."

Max nodded, so kindly, that she felt immediately horrible. Her conscience settled back, lounging and laughed maniacally. _Not funny. At all.

* * *

_

The bus pulled up and Megan let out a sigh of relief. She hoisted her duffel bag up and gave Max a smile of gratitude when he reached up to help her. She tapped her foot impatiently while waiting for the okay to get on. She had a job to find – fast. She had enough money from all of her scrimping to pay for the first month of her rent at the apartment. After that, she would be nearly broke. Money-managing was a tough skill to acquire, especially if you didn't have enough. She was like the reverse fairy tale.

She put her duffel bag in the overhead shelf, and then rummaged through her backpack for her Walkman.

"Mind if I sit here?" Max asked, filing onto the bus behind her.

"Sure, go ahead." She waved her hand carelessly, sitting down. Her back was perfectly straight, and she couldn't seem to relax. She placed the folded-up newspaper in her lap. She'd look at the jobs section on the way into the city.

The fields and trees were slowly being replaced with houses. The suburbs of New York were vast, and they looked immaculate to her tired eyes. They relayed some sort of hope to her. _I have my high school diploma. Surely that counts for something, somewhere. _

'We'll be in the city soon," Max muttered. "Have you ever been her before?"

"No," she said, truthfully. "I'm from New Hampshire."

"Huh." He leaned back in his seat. "I'm from Brooklyn."

"That must be nice." She blinked fiercely, trying to stay awake. _You can sleep when you find your apartment, okay? Until then, open your eyes, Reeves. Is it that hard?_

They continued into the actual city part. She didn't understand the concept of numbered streets, or how to appropriately hail a taxi, or what times of day the public transit would be crowded like crazy, or what exactly people meant when they referred to something as being "four blocks up". Not yet, anyhow. She would, in good time.

The bus finally pulled up to a stop at the terminal. Megan shifted, antsy and eager to get out and stretch her legs. The bus didn't have enough leg room at _all_.

Max helped her retrieve her luggage. "I'll have to find you around her." he gave her a piece of paper. "Call me when you get a chance."

She smiled. "Yeah, sure." He was sweet, but she didn't know her proximity to a phone at her tiny, matchbox-size apartment yet. She also wasn't willing to pay for a phone bill. "Bye. And thanks." He nodded and gave her a grin.

Megan slung her bags over her shoulder and walked to the sweltering outdoors. She could almost see the steam drifting off the sidewalk.

She dug around in her pocket for the piece of paper that she had written the apartment building address. Finally, after pulling out a lip balm, a keychain, some change, and a hair pin, Megan's finger's closed around the piece of paper. She unfolded it as a confused look came over her face. "Okay. Which way is that?"

* * *

**December, 1991**

Outside, it was snowy and cold. Inside, it was bright and warm. Megan had eventually landed a job somewhere that didn't have chronic mold and questionable morals, like it was fronting as a diner but really a meth lab. She still lived in her crappy apartment with five deadbolts, but at least she spent most of her time somewhere slightly safer.

She was a waitress at an artsy little café. The tips were good, and she got be exposed to some different cultures that the WASP-y place she came from.

"Hey, Megan?" the girl at the counter called. "The band playing tonight, the Red Glass or whatever the hell they call themselves called and they won't be in for their eight-fory-five setup time."

"Yeah? So?" Megan leaned on the counter. "Your point, Carly?"

"My point, Reeves," she replied, "is that we need to set up the instruments. You take drums."

Megan didn't bother to point out that no matter how she set up the drums, the drummer would complain about how she put it. "_You put that snare drum there?!_" She placed her coffee pot down the back counter, by the latte machine and went off to the little stage.

"Does this look even remotely right to you?" Carly asked, indicating the stage setup.

"We're waitresses, not temperamental musicians." Megan shrugged. "They'll fix it anyway."

"After they bitch about it for fifteen minutes," Carly mumbled. "Whatever." She went back to her perch at the counter. "Your boyfriend wants coffee, by the way."

"Since we haven't exactly defined our relationship, how about that hot guy at the best table in the house a refill?" Megan suggested.

"Sure. Get back to me when you figure out the terms of your relationship."

"You love gossip way too much."

Carly shrugged. "It's all good. Excuse me. I see someone looking for a refill in my section."

"Hey." Megan sauntered over to the table. "I thought you were working."

"I was." He grinned impishly and pulled her to sit beside him. "Until my boss told me to go get some coffee for him."

"Wouldn't that mean that you have to get a cup to go, Denny?"

"I don't know. It might. Why don't you tell me?"

A slow smile crept over her face. "I'll see you tonight."

"So, she's getting off work, finally." Denny's smile matched her own. "I'll pick you up at eight, okay?"

"I don't get off until nine."

"Nine-thirty it is." He put some bills on the table. "I'll have that coffee to go." She handed him the cup wordlessly and he kissed her cheek. "I'll see you then."

"Definitely your boyfriend," Carly whispered.

"Say what you want." Megan started to tidy up the counter, wiping it off, and clearing some dishes. The door opened, letting a rush of frigid December air inside the café. She shivered slightly; the black t-shirt she was wearing offered no protection against the elements. She'd be glad when winter was over several months.

"Excuse me?" A young woman stood there, her cheeks flushed from the cold. Megan gaped for a second, and then managed to close her jaw.

Rosalyn was in front of her, and she looked just as surprised. Eyeing her older sister, she swallowed. Rosalyn looked beautiful. Her hair was thick and dark, her eyes were bright, and she looked happy. Megan instinctively touched her own hair. She had it pulled back artfully, but it was sporting colours from many botched dye jobs. For unknown reasons, her boss approved of her multi-coloured hair, so she left it that way. Personally, she was sick of the pink-purple-green-blue-orange mess on her head, but she didn't want to dye over it and waste more time. She looked like hell in comparison to Rosalyn.

"What can I get you today?" she asked.

"A small coffee and a blueberry-lemon muffin." Rosalyn's face didn't move a muscle.

"Sure. That'll be two dollars and two cents." Megan accepted the money and handed over the order. She watched Rosalyn sit down. "Bryan?" she called into the kitchen. He was the supervisor of this shift. "I'm taking my break."

"Yeah. Go ahead." He looked comical with flour smudged all over his face, and she laughed to make herself feel better and to ignore the sinking pit in her stomach.

She went over to Rosalyn and placed a hand on the chair. "May I sit here?"

"I was kind of hoping you'd say that." Rosalyn folded her hands and glared. "Where the fuck have you been?"

"I finished high school at home, and I've been here a year and a half." Lying wouldn't get her anywhere now.

"You left a note! In the middle of the night! What kind of screwed-up person does that, Megan? What is wrong with you?"

"I know. I was there, I wrote the note. God, Rosalyn. No need to relieve the moment, okay?"

"You are impossible! You aren't even going to apologize! Impressive, Meg. Really."

"Fine. I'm sorry I ruined everyone's life. I'm sorry I destroyed our family. I'm sorry I couldn't take it anymore!" She looked down at her hands. "Happy?"

"Unbelievable." Rosalyn stood up. "What have you done to yourself? What has the world done to you?" She softened slightly. "But you're okay. We thought something might've happened."

"Yeah, well, it didn't. Worry over."

"I can see that," Rosalyn snapped. "Aren't you ever going to pick up a phone and call them? Mom has been getting thinner everyday that you've been gone."

"No." Megan stared directly at her sister. "I can't call there. Not now, possibly not ever. Okay?"

"Not okay. Don't you at least owe us that? Don't you think that would be a good idea, at least? None of us have seen you in three years, dammit!"

"Why don't you tell them, since you're so eager to get me back in the fold? I'm not calling there." Megan glared now, her eyes brimming with anger.

"Fine. I will tell them." Rosalyn stood up, and grabbed her muffin. "You have gotten insensitive, Megan. I tried, at least."

"Fine. Tell them. Just…" She wilted and sighed. "Never mind."

"You never changed, did you?" Rosalyn whispered. "Still holding onto a grudge."

"I guess not." Megan started to head off to the counter. "Rosalyn?"

"Yeah?"

"I am sorry."

She nodded. "Thanks."

* * *

Okay, I'm reiterating my staement at the end of the last chapter. Press the purple button!

* * *


	6. Brakes

**A/N: **Okay, see now, with all of your praise, my head will become swollen and then I'll become insufferable. Thanks, guys. Please keep it coming.

I just read that Diane had her baby, a little boy named Beckett, like thirty seconds ago. This part up here is being written Friday night, so this morning, I guess she had her baby. At 8:56 AM, Los Angeles time. That's so awesome.

Let's continue on…

Chapter 6: Brakes

**August, 1992**

The hugest mound of boxes that Megan had ever seen in one place was lying in the middle of the dorm room. She entered anyway, pushing them out of the way. God, this room was cramped. She looked dubiously at the tiny bed, and groaned, emptying an armload of stuff on the bed. She picked her way back to the door and picked up her stuff. She kicked a box of textbooks across the room and wiped her sweaty hands on her jeans. It was about fifteen thousand degrees out on the day she needed it to be cool. Back in New York, it had rained for the week before she left.

It wasn't Harvard, like she'd originally wanted, but she hadn't had very high hopes after waiting two years. It was nice, even if the college was filled with pilots and other aeronautical-types; that being the main focus here. She was pursuing psychology, because it fascinated her, and really, Megan had not one clue what she really wanted to do. If she figured it out, she could switch, if she wanted to.

A curly-haired teenage girl entered the room and stopped short. "Hi. You're living here too?"

"Yeah," Megan replied, straightening up from her pos1tion over a bag. "You're Lisa Martin?"

The girl nodded. "You must be Megan Reeves, then." She shook Megan's hand briskly, and stepped back. A middle-aged couple shuffled in the compact room, and Megan inwardly winced. "These are my parents, John and Leah."

"Hi." She shook their hands politely, feeling some unusual pangs. "It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too," Leah replied. "We're going to leave you girls to unpack; we've got to get going anyway." They kissed Lisa and departed, leaving the two girls to fill the room with their things.

Megan unpacked in silence. She couldn't count on saying something pleasant, or even just a general statement about the weather right then. She was busy thinking, her mind on warp speed. The four coffees she'd had since she woke up this morning appeared to be kicking in all at the same time.

Fifteen minutes later, Megan was sitting on her bed, dismantling the few boxes she had to stick under her shoes in the bottom of the closet. She chewed her lip, running her hands along the clothes she'd hung in there. About half of them were no longer presentable, in public or otherwise.

"Megan?"

Lisa was sitting on the edge of her own bed, looking nervous. She wanted to talk about something, anything, Megan realized, to keep the awkwardness first felt between people. Megan flopped down, kicking her sneakers on the floor. "Yeah, go ahead."

"It's nothing. You just – you looked annoyed or something."

She forced a smile on her face. "Long day of traveling and stuff." She dug a round in her wallet, trying to grab at some change. "Hey, do you know where the nearest corner store is?"

"I think it's – well, there's one in the airport."

"Okay. Thanks." Megan reached for the sneakers she'd just dropped on the floor. If she wasn't careful, her half of the room would end up as a pigsty. She jumped up, mostly to get the blood flowing. Sighing, she looked back at Lisa, running a hand through her still-streaked hair. The girl looked terrified. "Do you want to come? I'm just looking for a newspaper."

"Sure." Lisa looked so relived that it made Megan feel better about asking out of pity.

The two girls made their way out of the residence and towards the airport. "What are you here for?" Megan asked, kicking a pebble.

"Oh, Um, aeronautical engineering." Lisa flushed a dark crimson, almost matching Megan's tank top.

"Wow."

"Yeah, I guess. What are you studying?" Lisa asked, a little braver from the praise.

"Psychology."

"Interesting."

"It should be." Megan shrugged. "I took a psychology course in school; it was fun."

Lisa stared at her and Megan sighed. She spoke kindly however, correctly reading the look on her roommate's face. "I graduated two ears ago." _Closed topic, by the way. I hope you can get that. I wouldn't want to have to lie some more._

"Oh." Lisa looked away. _Thank you._

Megan pushed the door open, welcoming the frigid air conditioning on her sweaty skin. She made a beeline for the newspaper rack. She quickly assessed her options and grabbed for the local paper. She had made exact change for the paper and handed it over. "You really shouldn't walk and talk at the same time," Lisa commented quietly.

"You're probably right," Megan conceded and sat on a bench promptly, viciously flipping through the pages. She pulled a pen out of her pocket and started circling things, her eyes flickering over the tiny printed words. This continued for several minutes, as she exhausted the entire section. "I think I'm going to go look around campus."

"Okay." Lisa headed off to their not-so-distant residence building.

Megan opened the paper again, carefully looking at each page, hoping that what she'd seen hadn't been there. Her eyes absorbed each little newsprint letter, checking and re-checking the sentences to make sure she hadn't seen what she thought she saw. She needed glasses; her eyes blurred as the words ran together the more she studied it.

She was in her home state, within an hour's drive of the house she refused to darken the door of. It wasn't a crazy thought, like if she'd thought she'd seen the name in a paper in Miami, or vacationing in Uruguay. In this version, her reality, it was entirely possible.

Pausing to push back her bangs, she laid the newspaper on the bench, wondering what she'd say at the eventual reunion. She still remembered Rosalyn in New York, and shuddered. What did she expect? Not much mire than that; in all reality, probably the situation would be worse. Megan kept those ideas in the horizon, close enough to see them, but far enough away to not worry too much about what they might hold.

Her hand shook as she picked up the paper again. She blinked at the bold, dark letters and her breath hitched. It couldn't be. It really couldn't. But it was.

She'd been right. She had seen her father's name under a headline. Megan brought the picture closer to her face. There he was, smiling in black-and-white at her.

* * *

**February, 1993**

She was back to square one. Again. At least this time, she hadn't ended up wasting too much of her precious lifetime. Now that she had discovered, through her limited experience, that post-secondary was not for her, she had moved on. She drew her legs up on the seat, not caring that she was an adult now, and couldn't really curl up on the bus, trying to be forgotten by the world.

Megan leaned her temple against the cool glass of the window. She was going back to New York – feeling a lot less hopeful than when she had left, only a few months ago. She was almost twenty-one, with a limited future. Her birthday was in a few weeks and she had no plans (except to find a job) and no one to celebrate it with. Her genius move five years ago was looking stupider by the week. _What am I going to do? The eternal question springs up again and this pity party isn't helping._

"I'm a disaster," she said out loud, earning a strange look from the woman beside her. She stared back not shaking the directness found there. When the woman looked away, disconcerted by the steadiness in her glare, Megan meekly apologized. "I'm sorry."

_Sorry_. If she went back home, she'd be saying sorry for the next ten years. Were there enough sorrys in the world for that? Most likely not, and with that question answered, she turned to the window, looking fir more answers, as if they were written into the sky, trees, fields and lone buildings.

If she shut her eyes, she could see her mother's face floating in her mind. Rosalyn was right; she did need to call, to explain, but she had nothing left to explain. The normally mouthy Megan had run out of excuses for herself. The truth was the last resort, and she didn't really want to vocalize that to Charlotte, because her mother loved her father, whereas Megan felt nothing towards him now. It was wonderful to be away from that anger, but it was depressing to know that she felt more for a stranger that she felt more for cute little girl she saw in a store than her father, whom she shared half of her chromosomes with.

The bus was once again starting to get closer to New York. Megan sat up ramrod straight, wide awake and feeling very weary. Her days were long. She spent the past few weeks at school, staring at her papers and other assignments in the library, attempting to do her work, but feeling no motivation to do so. When she told Lisa that she was dropping out, she could've sworn that the younger girl looked relieved. She guessed that her increasingly strange habits were starting to freak out her roommate. They were staring to freak her out, too.

This time, before she came to the city, she had done a little more planning. Her apartment already had some of her stuff in it, and when she'd been there the week before; she'd given out her resumé to several places and marked out when they could call her. This time round, she was going to have a phone.

The skyscrapers of New York City came into view. They would be at the terminal in about half an hour, and Megan both dreaded getting there and wanted to break out of her prison on the bus.

Finally, at the moment she though she would perish from waiting, they came to a stop in the station. Letting out a sigh of satisfaction, Megan picked up the bags she brought onto the bus with her and waited the requisite few minutes before she could leave and go get her other bags.

The station was as crowded as she remembered as she maneuvered her way through the people to pick up her remaining boxes. They were dumped onto a trolley, which was wheeled into a waiting room, filled with unhappy travelers.

Megan sat on a chair, pulling out a map. She circled two sites on the map with a pencil, chewed her lip and scowled. She was going to need to hail a taxi to get to her apartment. She sifted through the money in her wallet, trying to calculate exactly how much she was going to pay out, including tip. She sighed, knowing she wouldn't like the exact answer. Any money paid out to a taxi river, hairdresser or waiter was too much, in her books. They were extravagances. She could cut her own hair quite well, thank you very much.

She started to wheel her trolley to the street, so she could load her boxes and suitcase into the back of the taxi when she managed to get one. Her path was becoming more and more complicated as she wove through the groups of commuters, travelers, college students and families clustered all over the place. It was irritating to say the least, having to steer the cart so carefully, so she could fit through the gaps that people made.

Somehow, Megan ended up in front of a pay phone. She gazed at the plastic and metal contraption, many ideas blossoming in her mind, on in particular startling her normal sane side of her mind. _That's not even an option, not even close. _

The more she looked at the phone, the more she wanted to reach out and dial that number. It was full of possibilities, of emotions, and of her own fear. It was the only thing she was scared of doing.

Giving into the persistent knocking of that one idea in her mind, she dug in her pocket for a quarter. Finding nothing, she sorted through the coins in her wallet. The cool metal of the coin was a contrast with her warm, sweaty hand. She studied the face on the quarter for a minute, before she pushed it in the coin slot on top of the telephone box with shaking hands. This was the single-most terrifying thing she'd ever done in her life.

She picked up the receiver and held it to her ear. The steady dial tone soothed her. She dialed the number, it flowing out of her memory like she had never left.

The phone rang four times, each ring making her heart thud faster. "Hello?" Charlotte's soft voice asked.

She let out a breath. "Hi, Mom. It's me, Megan."

"Oh my -" Charlotte's breath caught and Megan could imagine the tears in her mother's eyes, because they were forming in her own.


	7. Powerless

**A/N: **Another delightful segment in my wonderful story. I hope you all like it, anyway. I really enjoy how everyone likes the multi-coloured hair bit…wow, I should so be monitored when I write my author's notes. This is horrible that I ramble like this. Okay, moving on…

**Sarai: **The paper thing, with her father's picture was just to show the impact he still has on her. Sorry you were confused.

And one last item: Don't know how much I'll be updating in the next few weeks…just got word of a mini-family crisis and guess who's the oldest kid and presumably in charge for the time being? Yeah. So I'll do my best.

Chapter 7: Powerless

She paced the length of the room, shot a glance out the window and whirled in place. Waiting, all of this waiting – she couldn't take it anymore. In this instance, where she'd normally take the reins and fix whatever was bothering her, she just had to continue this infernal waiting. She was impatient, excited and fearful all at the same time.

After months of civilized and sometimes fun conversations on the phone, Megan had nervously asked her mother if she wanted to come visit. Charlotte had agreed, with something like eagerness. Megan spent the past few days alternately working extra hours to make up for the time she'd take off in the next few days to spend time with her mother, and cleaning the apartment. She was determined to show Charlotte that she was doing alright. Even if she had to stretch the truth a little bit.

Again, she walked over to the window and eyed the street. Nothing in particular caught her eye. Megan watched the street, butterflies beating faster as each car drove by. This was more stress than trying to balance four trays during happy hour at the bar where she was a waitress.

A taxi pulled up outside the building. Megan gripped the windowsill, willing the passenger to be her mother. She couldn't get a good look but she just knew it was Charlotte. She resumed pacing across her living room floor. All of a sudden, the walk from the front door to the second floor seemed far too time-consuming.

Megan opened the door to her mother's cautious knock. "Hello," she greeted, feeling very self-conscious. She ushered Charlotte into the room and quickly shut the door. "I'll do that, Mom," she offered, motioning to her mother's bag. "The spare room is just down here."

"Wait," Charlotte dictated, holding up a slim hand. Megan stopped her quick movements and tilted her head, listening. Charlotte had removed her coat and hung it on a chair. She now stepped forward and held her youngest daughter in her arms. Megan was stiff for a moment and then returned the gesture. She felt her wall crumble a bit and hugged Charlotte a little tighter.

Charlotte let go of Megan and smoothed out Megan's rumpled hair. "There. Was that too hard?"

"No," Megan shook her head, laughing a little. She wiped a few stray tears from her face and put on a brilliant smile. "I'm glad you came."

"Did you think I wouldn't?" she teased gently. "I would come anytime you asked, Megan." Charlotte followed her daughter down the narrow hallway and into the spare room.

"Okay. I fixed this room up for you. Bathroom's second on the left and everything else is pretty much self-evident." Megan shuffled her feet, rocking back and forth. Charlotte inwardly smiled at how nervous Megan was. She realized how hard it was for Megan to ask to see her, and to do this.

It hadn't been a happy time after Megan had left. Milo had continued to rage at how she'd tossed their fine name out the window, how ungrateful she was and how Megan was inconsiderate and bratty. She had taken some aspirin and shut her eyes, hoping the ordeal would just go away. When she'd announced she was going to stay with Megan for a few days, Milo had raged some more, muttering about Megan's general faults as a human being and how her eyes seemed to stare through a person or something like that. Charlotte had ignored him. Megan and Milo could fight out whatever battle they had themselves. She would not be the peacekeeper. "You've done a good job here, Megan."

"Thank you, Mom."

They went to sit in the living room; Megan on the couch (masterfully covered by a blanket), charlotte sitting gingerly on a chair (also with a cover – Megan didn't want to display the condition of her furniture out in the open). "I hope you aren't taking too much time off work, dear," Charlotte said. "I don't want you to lose your job."

"Mom, I have two jobs," Megan pointed out sharply. "They can do without me for a couple days." Softening her tone, she went on. "I never take any time off and I worked extra hours over the last few days. It's all arranged, trust me."

Charlotte smiled thinly. "I see."

Megan felt the paper-thin sheet of ice they were walking on crack a little. "How, um, is everyone?" she asked cautiously, not knowing if they were going to plunge into the water underneath.

Luckily, she had said something that would keep them walking precariously. "Jessica has started in law school – why she wants to be a lawyer, none of us know why." Charlotte chuckled slightly. "Alannah has taken up philosophy and switched her major; Rosalyn is engaged."

"She is?"

"Yes, she is." Charlotte leaned over and lightly placed a hand on Megan's knee. "She wants you to come to the wedding, no matter what."

"I will," she promised. Then she grinned. "Jess as a lawyer? She always did come up with the best lies, anyway."

Her mother laughed, glad to have that piece of Megan around. She was more subdued than she had been, but her idea of fun was still the same. Megan's grey-green eyes sparkled, and Charlotte felt herself smile.

* * *

The phone rang loudly, shrill. Megan wrapped the comforter around her and padded out to the kitchen, hoping that the phone hadn't woken up Charlotte. "Go take a long walk off a short pier," she whisper-snapped at the receiver and picked it up. "Hello?"

"Megan? Is that you?"

The slightly drunken voice of Milo came loudly through the receiver. She held it away from her ear. He'd probably just come home from the club. "My apartment, Dad. Who else would pick up? It's two o'clock in the morning. Why the hell are you calling me?" She couldn't quite remove the bitterness in her tone. She forgot that he was crueler when he was tipsy.

"I called…your mother is visiting you, is she not?" Milo's voice was crisp. "I called to see if she got there fine and that you hadn't poisoned her yet. You always were nasty, Megan, never knew when to stop fighting."

She was silent, letting him continue to list off her flaws. Then she cut him off briskly. "is this how it's going to be, Dad?"

"Be like what? You set off the chain by giving up. The sad part is, I didn't expect anymore from you…"

"Don't call me again, _Milo_," she spat out. "Mom will call you if she wants to talk while she's here." She slammed the receiver back into place and stalked back down the hall, to sleep and forget the phone call.

* * *

**August, 1995**

Two out of five. Forty percent. That was the amount of people she was on speaking terms with in her family. Actually, Rosalyn and Alannah were starting to soften slightly, but the rift between Milo and Megan was even wider than it had begun. However, she was talking to Charlotte more than ever, and right now, she was moving in with Jessica, while she finally completed her degree. "You have about fifteen pounds of unnecessary stuff," Jessica informed her, as they lugged in the last of Megan's boxes.

"I don't know where it came from, in case you're wondering."

Jessica looked apprehensively at the boxes piled in the doorway of the apartment. She ran a hand through her hair, blinked at Megan and shrugged. "Good luck with that." She practically ran to the living room, as if the faster she went, the more unlikely it was that Megan would yell after her.

She sighed and picked up a box, struggling to bring it into the small bedroom that was allotted for her. It was unnaturally heavy and she dropped it on the floor, rubbing her shoulder. It shouldn't be that hard to carry ten feet – she'd started to take an active interest in fitness again and had taken up going to the gym, no matter how much she had to fork out. She'd also been thinking about a Krav Maga class she'd seen in the paper. ti just might be time for that.

Cross-legged on the floor, Megan pushed the box in front of her and sliced the top open with a hairpin. This particular box had some shoes, smaller boxes of her accumulated odds and ends and a book. "Excellent. A box of miscellaneous crap," she muttered. "I really know how to pack." she picked up the book and opened the cover. It stuck a little, and she was faced with the fact that she owned a copy of Dostoevsky's _Crime and Punishment_. That was odd, because she had no recollection of buying, reading or packing _Crime and Punishment_ ever.

"Hey," she said, finding Jessica reading on the couch, a pair of glasses jauntily perched on her sister's nose. "Catch."

"What's this?" Jessica asked, neatly reaching up to snatch the book from the air. "A really old copy of _Crime and Punishment_. Why are you tossing this to me?"

"Because I found it in one of my boxes, don't know why I have it, and wondered if you want it."

"Meg, I don't think I'm supposed to have any clue why you have a well-known Russian novel that you didn't know you had." Jess tossed it onto the table. "Go unpack."

Megan turned to leave, and Jessica called after her:

"I think you took that when you…left. It was Alannah's copy for her Lit class."

"Oh, okay. I can't tell you why I took it, though. I have no idea."

She went to go dig through more boxes. All of them were heavy, filled with confusing things – like a sweater, a hairbrush and a set of sheets. "I was drunk when I packed these," Megan mumbled. "That, or asleep."

Soon, boxes were piled up all around her, clothes and books lying in piles all over the floor. She'd managed to cover the 110 square feet floor space very quickly. She stood up, untangling herself from the cardboard. "Now, only to put it all away. If that's even possible."

* * *

Their supper was Chinese from a really cheap place down the road. Megan speared an egg roll, thoughtfully chewing on a piece, while letting the sounds from the TV screen surround her. There was some movie blaring into the room. Both were basically ignoring the TV, instead, looking for something else to do. Jessica was reading yet another book – when had she become such a bookworm? All Megan could remember her reading was fashion magazines and really trashy novels, instead of the piles of classic novels she had lying around now.

She chewed the rest of the meal in silence, wanting to bridge the uncomfortable air between them, but not bothering to even try. "Thanks for the food, Jess."

"Your turn next time, kid."

Megan didn't bother to pint out she was twenty-three; however, she figured she'd always be a kid in her sister's eyes. Whatever. "I'll be back.' She abruptly got up, dropping her paper plate on the table.

She forged her way down the short, narrow hallway and into her new bedroom. Tomorrow, she'd be going over to campus to get everything straightened for school. Tonight, she was going to relax, since it was such and odd word for her to use, or even think about.

Flicking on the light switch, Megan quickly shed her jeans and t-shirt in exchange for a giant sweatshirt and pyjama pants. It was unusually cool for an August night. She tossed her dirty clothes into a bag, reminding her to scout out the washing machines closest to the building the next say. She picked up a pen and scrawled it on her hand, watching the felt-tip's ink bleed into the lines on her skin.

Megan curled up on her bed, with the last boxes – the ones that were empty, anyway – to bust up. She loudly broke the cardboard and managed stuff them in the garbage.

From her position on the bed, she reached for the extension phone. She dialed the number, waited for a few rings and then waited for the machine to beep. "Hey, Mom. It's Megan. I'm at Jess's now – I just got settled in. I guess you're asleep. Sorry, I didn't realize how late it is. Call me when you get this. Love you." She set the receiver back in it cradle gently, carefully, as if she was afraid it would break.

Another box, the last one that was still intact, was lying on top of the dresser. Shepulled herself up from the bed and opened the flaps on top. Underneath some old notebooks and photo albums, she found a yellow, smudged newspaper. She opened the pages, seeing her writing on different sections, remembering what she had been doing with the paper: looking for jobs. She never threw anything away, apparently.

Like before, she came across the photo of her father. It had been for some article on the Chamber of Commerce or something. She tore it out, glaring at Milo's face.

Jessica came in. "Megan, what are you doing? I heard all this noise, and …what's that?" She took a few steps to look at the piece of paper. "Oh."

Megan got her closure by ripping it cleanly in half. Jessica watched the scraps fall to the floor, and nodded, just once.


	8. All She Wrote

**A/N: **Thanks to everyone that has reviewed so far. You all get a place in my acceptance speech for whatever prestigious prize I happen to win in the future. I'll let you know which one, when I figure it out.

Chapter 8: All She Wrote

**May, 1996**

Megan sat on the floor, crossing her legs and leaning against the couch. "Don't get too comfortable," She warned her boyfriend, Dan, as he fiddled with her hair. "I have a Krav Maga class in an hour, and lunch afterwards."

"Aren't you the queen of martial arts already?" her friend Leah demanded. "You're always coming or going. When do you have anytime to relax?"

She laughed wryly. "Almost never."

"Where are you going for lunch?" Leah asked.

"I don't know. My sister is taking me out, and I haven't seen her in ages."

"Sweetheart," another friend interjected, Anna, "You have, like, fifteen sisters. Why don't you tell us which one?"

"Alannah."

"That's better." Anna nodded with satisfaction and leaned back in her chair.

"Would the three of you shut the hell up and watch this chick flick?" Dan griped.

All three of them glared at him. "Fine. I get it." He crossed his arms and sulked, while the girls stared at the screen, completely fixated on it. "However, this story has been told a hundred and fifty thousand times."

"It's slightly different every single time," Megan argued. "It's not the story, it's the idea. Have you ever met anyone who hasn't been able to predict what would happen in any romantic comedy?"

"No."

"Good. Then shut up." Leah gave each one of them a scathing glare, as if to make sure they would listen to her and not interrupt the sickly-sweet film that was flickering across the ancient TV screen.

"Come on!" Dan yelled at the characters. "You'd swear they never saw a movie either. Or turned on the TV." He glared at Megan. She shrugged and made a motion with her head back towards the screen.

"No one's holding a gun to your head and making you stay to watch this," she pointed out.

"Thank God." Dan rolled off the couch, kissing her quickly. "I'll see you tonight." Scooping a coat from the pile by the door, he threw it over his shoulder and left, whistling. Megan shook her head, laughing.

"Leaving put a spring in his step."

"It's about time; he was dampening the mood," Anna replied. "Besides, chick flicks are supposed to be cheesy. He's taking it too seriously."

"This is the point where someone would shake their head and say, 'Men,' in a despairing or disgusted tone, right?" Megan commented.

"You're so jaded." Anna tossed a piece of popcorn at her. "Now, you shut up and watch the movie, okay?"

Okay." Megan got up and curled up in the place Dan had just vacated. She sunk into the warm couch cushions and rested her chin on the palm of her hand, using one finger to push up her glasses, which were falling down her nose again. She'd have to go get them adjusted soon.

The hour of lazy movie-watching came and went. They had all shifted positions: Megan was draped over the chair; Leah was lying on the floor and Anna was sitting straight up on the couch, taking up as little room as humanly possible. Megan managed to get herself vertical and stretched, directing her long arms skyward. "I have to go. Now."

"See you later," Leah answered.

"Come here later, if you can, and help us eat all of this junk food," Anna added. "You eat like a horse."

"Thanks," she replied sarcastically.

"No! Megan! It's a good thing, I promise. You know I love you," Anna pleaded.

"Bye." She shut the door with some degree of finality, just to drive Anna crazy.

She walked along the street, enjoying the spring breeze. After winter, the fist obvious signs of spring always startled her: she was used to the bleak skies of winter, the bare trees and the look of snow after six months of it building up and dirt collecting by people shoveling it with their snow. The muddy ground, grass starting to grow again, and sunshine all were a little disconcerting. "_It's like culture shock_," Jessica had said, in one of her rare talkative moments. "_Weather shock? We can coin a new phrase_." Megan had laughed appreciatively, then had pressed Jessica to spend some more time talking abut silly and pointless topics.

"_You'll burn out soon_," she had argued. Jessica merely raised her eyebrows and turned away. Megan privately suspected that she wanted to say something about Megan's own work ethic. She had decided to throw herself into her work this time, and dammit, she was going to _finish what she started_. It also may have to do with the fact that charlotte was practically down on her hands and knees, begging her to get out of the low-rent bar, where she had been a long serving waitress. So she agreed, because she was tired of dealing with belligerent drunks. She was attempting to finish her degree in psychology again. Just as an undergrad, but she found it fascinating to learn the motivators and the science in what happened when a person felt an emotion – how all of these things worked together.

She let herself in the apartment, tossing her keys on the counter. They slid across the slick surface and crashed to the floor. "Great," she mumbled, wedging her hand between a magazine rack and the side of the counter. She fished for the keys, only managing to push them away. "What are you doing?" Jessica asked, crouching beside her.

"Looking for my keys," Megan replied. "Studying?"

"Yeah. Here," Jessica offered, taking Megan's place on the floor. "You go get ready. Krav Maga, right?"

Megan nodded, already halfway to getting ready. When she emerged from the room, Jessica was sitting cross-legged on the floor, using a handle to pry the key ring out from behind the rack, which was bolted to the floor. She sat on the linoleum beside Jessica, waiting for her to get them out. "So you're having lunch with Alannah," Jess began, her spoon catching on the ring.

"Yes."

"She's been kind of…" Jessica appeared to be looking for the appropriate word. "She's a little irritable lately."

"How so?"

She sidestepped the question with ease, tossing Megan the keys. "She's being typical Alannah. You ask too many questions."

"I haven't abandoned my curiosity stage."

"No kidding." Both of them stood up, Megan's tall frame towering over Jessica's petite structure. "Megan? Just be careful. What you say, how you say it."

* * *

It was a local, family-owned restaurant, favoured by the college students and young families alike. Megan paused in the threshold a moment, scanning the room for Alannah's familiar blond curls. She spotted them, at a table at a window. She straightened her blouse and traced a path through the restaurant to slide in at the table. "Hello," she greeted, taking a long look at Alannah. As the pieces of her sister's appearance fell together, the expression fell from Megan's face and was replaced with stone. She folded her hands on the table, straightening her posture now. "How far along are you?"

Alannah transferred her gaze to stare directly into Megan's eyes. She didn't even blink. "Five months."

"How long have you known?"

"Three months."

"I see." She was the first to break away from the almost tangible beam connecting them. Megan picked up a menu, flipping through it too fast to be actually reading it.

"What?" Not getting an answer, Alannah tilted her head to get a better look into Megan's face. "No, say it, Megan. What do you really think?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

"You know, I find that hard to believe. And, I bet so do you. So why don't you tell me what you're thinking?"

"Am I the last one to find out?"

"Yes, you are."

She shook her head, studying the appetizers. "I thought so."

"Going to be self-righteous about this, Megan?" Alannah leaned across the table. "I have a message for you: tough luck. Learn to be on the receiving end of it for once."

"Did you get that from Dad?' Megan asked sharply. "I have a message for you: I have no interest, now or ever, in finding out exactly what his extremely low opinion of me exactly is."

"Excuse me?" A teenage boy was standing beside their table, slouching slightly, a pen poised over the order pad. Megan had never been so glad to see a waiter in her life. She quickly listed off her order and was rewarded with a cup of coffee. She poured some milk in and stirred haphazardly. Alannah followed suit; only for her, it was cream.

"Burnt out about something, Alannah?" Megan asked, her tone perfectly poisonous, knowing how much ammunition could be released from it.

Alannah decided to go with option number two: play dumb. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Meg." She then decided to put some double talk into the mix. "Are you burnt out about something?"

Daintily, Megan sipped her coffee. "As a matter of fact, Alannah, I am." She gave a patented tight smile. "Care to hear about it?"

"I would be delighted." Alannah's own voice dripped with a liberal amount of sarcasm.

"I'm burnt out because," Megan began, "my sister insists upon freezing me out for unknown reason."

"Interesting," Alannah mused. "_I'm _burnt out because _my _sister appears to have such a short memory."

Megan shook her head in desperation. Alannah was still angry about ancient history. She could understand that, she guessed. "I'm sorry that my memory has a different side of the events," she replied coldly.

"I'm sorry that you haven't botherd to do the normal small-talk options usually present in moments like these."

"How are you, Alannah?"

"Fine. You?"

"Fine." Megan gave Alannah a pointed glare. "Want to talk about the weather now, or are we good?"

"I don't know. How long do you think it would take us to exhaust the fact that it's an extremely boring spring day?"

"I would say you just did."

"You're hilarious, Megan. A complete laugh riot."

"Not one of my better jokes. I'll brush up for you next time, okay?"

"I look forward to it."

"Good."

"Good." Alannah crossed her arms and stared out the window, making her best attempt to try to completely shut out Megan, who was sitting across from her and clinking her spoon against the side of her coffee mug. "Do you mind?"

Megan laid her spoon down on the table, wrapping her fingers around the aforementioned coffee mug, so she wouldn't drum out a pattern on the table. The heat seeped from the ceramic cup and into her icy hands.

This was ridiculous. Megan placed her head on a hand and stared at the little pattern of dots on the table top. They were bickering like a pair of well…siblings – like they were kids again. She sighed, expelling some strangled air. She felt as if she was drowning under the weight of their petty arguments. Her childhood, revisited, with the one person she thought would've stood by her.

A waiter slid up to the table, interrupting their conversation. Megan sat back, and graciously accepted her plate, with a genuine smile. Anything to prevent them from actually talking to one another, as that had proved to be catastrophic. She picked up her fork, twirled it around once, before jabbing a piece of lettuce.

* * *

Just as they were exiting the restaurant, Megan, who for one, was glad to leave behind that unpleasant experience, Alannah stooped in her tracks on the street and placed a restraining hand on Megan's arm. "I know that this won't be much of an apology and will probably make you more furious than you already are, but I wrote this for you and you should probably read this anyway. No matter what you'll think afterward." She gave Megan a slip of paper. She raised her eyebrows at Alannah's choice of stationary, but kept her mouth shut, for the time being. Megan peeled back the paper and began to read the neat, even handwriting.

"_Dear Megan,_

"_So here we are. I'm sorry, let me rephrase that: so here I am. You have flown the coop. It was really kind of you, to leave in the middle of the night. It made for an interesting breakfast. Thank so -"_

Megan crumpled the paper into a tiny ball, which was promptly stuffed into her coat pocket. "You're right. It wasn't."

Alannah nodded slowly, looking strangely close to tears. Megan decided to take charge of the situation, considering her older sister was close to becoming a pregnant, hormonal wreck. She linked her arm with Alannah's, steering them down the sidewalk. "Come on. I know a place with a ton of junk food and bad movies to enjoy…"

* * *

Okay…reviews! Crave them! And if you drop me a line about my story, I'll be very happy. And who doesn't want to contribute to my happiness? ;) 


	9. Auld Lang Syne

**Disclaimer:** I can't remember who played who before January 1, 2000, in the World Junior Hockey Championship, and I can't find it. And I don't feel like asking my brother who knows all things hockey, and would say something like, "You don't know? I bet you don't know who won the Stanley Cup in 1904, either." So I'm making it up. And I still don't own NUMB3RS.

**A/N: **(hugs all the reviewers) Thanks, guys! You make me very happy! **Andy**…aw, shucks. I'm glad you love this story. Sorry it's taken me a little while to update. Midterms blow.

Credit for my inspiration this chapter go to the song _Rainy Day People_, cheddar flavoured Rice Thins and of course, the season 2 NUMB3RS DVDs.

Chapter 9: Auld Lang Syne

**December, 1999**

The Christmas tree was still in the corner, the presents still lying under the tree. Tonight, though, the focus was celebrating the coming New Year (and possible apocalypse). A full bottle of champagne was resting on the counter, waiting to be poured, next to a mostly emptied one. The television was on for background, and proving to be the actual main event. Charlotte guessed that it was one of the World Junior hockey games; she found out it was Canada and Sweden by squinting at the screen.

The Reeves family had crowded into Rosalyn's new house to spend Christmas together for the first time in years. Rosalyn and her husband, Joel; Alannah and her husband, Andrew and their daughter, Olivia; Jessica had brought her boyfriend, Kevin; Charlotte and Milo; and Megan were all there, celebrating. Charlotte smothered her sigh as she looked at Megan. Her youngest had mumbled something about whomever she was currently seeing not being able to make it. Megan had been eerily quiet, and true to her word: she'd managed to go almost a whole week without speaking to her father, while staying in the same house, eating at the same meals. Charlotte was almost impressed with her daughter's determination to stick to her principles; she just wished that Megan would apply that to the rest of her life. She had graduated from university last May and had made no moves to go to graduate school – because what could you do with a B.A. and a major in psychology? She was drifting again.

No, instead, Megan was sitting on the floor, playing with Olivia, trying to keep the three year old entertained. Livvie had declared that she wanted to stay up to midnight and Alannah had grudgingly agreed, knowing that Olivia probably wouldn't make it to ten o'clock.

Charlotte smiled to herself. It was going on eleven, and Megan had managed to keep her small niece quiet and out of the way for almost four hours. That was impressive, given Olivia's energy level. She suspected that Megan would make a good mother someday, if she ever got around to putting down roots. "Switch to a countdown on one of the other channels," Charlotte suggested.

"We can't do that, Mom," Rosalyn replied, rolling her eyes. "Heaven forbid we don't know who wins."

"It's five-one, with two minutes left in the second," Charlotte pointed out. "And it's tape-delayed, so you know what happened."

"Sweden blew the game. They were losing the moment they stepped on the ice," Megan announced from her place on the floor. "Change the channel."

Joel held the remote over his head, far away from Rosalyn. "When the game is done."

"Sorry, ladies. You've been trumped the controllers of the TV," Milo explained.

Megan turned quickly away. She always felt some sort of empty sadness when her father had spoken in the last few days. They were at a stalemate, and her pride was keeping her from closing the gap. However, his own pride was a factor here, too. She might have been biased, but he deserved at least some of the blame.

She had noticed her mother's thoughtful stares in her direction all evening. They were kind of disconcerting, because she knew exactly what Charlotte was thinking, but couldn't have a private conversation about it, because there were too many people. Family gatherings made her skin crawl, even as a kid. At least this was her immediate family, and not a meet-and-greet of third cousins, twice removed. That was pure hell, pretending she cared in front of people she barely knew. At least there was some kind of motivator for her to care, here.

"Auntie Meg," Olivia cried, trying to grasp her aunt's attention. "Will you read this book?" She held out a board book to Megan. She immediately recognized it as being _Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs_. She remembered loving it when she was three. Some things never changed.

"That's the fourth book this evening, Liv," Megan replied, allowing the little girl to sit on her lap. "Are you sure you're not tired?"

"No!" Olivia shook her head vehemently. "I want to meet the New Year Baby. Does he come when the year comes?"

"Sweetie, the New Year Baby doesn't visit people every year, and sometimes he come a little late." Mega stole a glance at Alannah, who smiled and raised her eyebrows. She was sticking to cider tonight.

"Does that mean I don't get to stay up with the grown-ups?" Olivia looked crestfallen.

"Of course you do." Are you ready to hear the story?" When Olivia nodded yes, Megan began to read the time-honoured fairy tale, speaking in a quiet voice, as if to keep it secret, between the two of them.

Halfway through her rendition of _Snow White_, Olivia tugged on Megan's arm "Auntie Meg, what do you do?"

"What do you mean, Livvie?"

"Snow White runs away from the witch and Mommy reads me stories and makes cookies and Daddy works and Nana buys me presents and Auntie Jess wears pretty clothes but I don't know what you do. Mommy said you used to go to school."

"I went to school for a very long time."

"Is school fun?"

Megan smiled. Her niece was in the stage of a thousand questions. "It's very fun. You'll see when you get there."

"When am I going to school?"

"After this new year, two more before you can go to school." She switched legs for Olivia to sit on. "Do you want to hear the rest of the story?"

"Read!" Olivia commanded, hitting the book with her finger. Megan obliged, letting the story come back to life as Olivia giggled through it.

Olivia had a point, though. What did she do? That question had been reflected in Charlotte's eyes all week, and Megan still didn't have an answer for her. She had ideas of what she wanted to do – she combed papers for articles describing different jobs and went to library to look through job listings on the internet. She was researching and getting applications for jobs, schools and working at her minimum-wage jobs and trying to pay off her student loan all at the same time – and coming up empty-handed. The truth was, Megan had no intention of sharing any of her plans until the ball was rolling and she was on it. That way, she wouldn't have to explain in case it didn't go anywhere. It was just a precaution she figured she had to take.

Megan looked down at her lap. Olivia was sleeping now, her body keeping her aunt's legs warm. Sighing, she shut the book and placed it beside Olivia's stack of presents. "You're going to be spoiled rotten, sweetie."

"I know." Alannah had moved to the chair beside Megan's floor space. "You guys all went a little crazy when she was born, and every occasion after that."

"That's how it works, Alannah," Charlotte replied. "She's the first. We get to heap presents on her now. As her grandmother, it is my duty to make sure she has too much stuff."

"Thanks, Mom," Alannah commented dryly. "As long as you're not the one trying to fit everything back into the car with her."

"I have four daughters. Don't you remember the trips to my mother's house at Christmas?"

"Fine. You win." She turned back to Megan. "Do you want me to take her?"

"I think she's fine here. Besides, she's warm and I'm freezing."

"It's your call."

"I'm fine."

"Okay."

She moved back a little, trying not to disturb Olivia but wanting to rest her back against something. She got the wall and slumped against it, completely exhausted. Giving and getting the silent treatment from Milo had been a tiring task thus far. She was wiped as clean as a blank slate.

Charlotte came and sat on the floor next to Megan. Without opening her eyes, Megan heard the strain her mother was making to sit there. "You don't have to sit down here, Mom. Go back to the couch. It's not exactly good for you to be down here. It's probably not good for me to be down here."

"Nonsense, hon." Her mother took a sp of champagne. Megan tilted her head at Charlotte. She had noticed that her mother had been making quite the dent in the alcohol and had the reason narrowed down quite a bit, to a handful of things. She said nothing; just raised an eyebrow and waited. Charlotte noticed the change from fatigue to calculating in Megan's face, but also said nothing about it. "You're good with her."

She shrugged. "She's a sweetheart."

"I know."

"Is there something bothering you, Mom?"

"No. Why?"

"I don't know." Megan measured her words, checking the impact each time she thought of something to say. "You're different tonight."

"It's New Year's Eve, Megan. It's time to thin about having some fun; coming up with resolution you'll never keep and relaxing a little."

"So I've heard."

"Megan." Charlotte was serious now, putting down the champagne flute and speaking softly. "I know you're upset about something, but can you please try to look like you're having a good time? Rosalyn's going to be hurt, since this is the first major holiday celebrated here and she feels responsible for how it turns out."

"I will, Mom." Megan smiled slightly, and stroked Olivia's hair. "I'm just - it's work, you know?"

"If you -"

"I have plans."

"I see."

Charlotte managed to push herself up from the carpet and looked back down at Megan. "Don't leave them till too late."

"I won't."

She read the look her mother gave her with perfect comprehension: _You're twenty-seven, dear, with a university degree that's next to useless – psychology, of all things; and only a bachelor, too – you need to do something. _This time, Megan countered Charlotte's dubious stare and hers read: _Okay? This year is the year._

Megan snapped off her look first, now staring at the TV screen and being unable to focus on the hockey players and the puck whizzing around the ice. She reached for her glasses and put them on. It was obviously over, with only a minute to go. Rosalyn and Jessica were battling the men over whether or not they could change it from the game. Charlotte joined in, and all seven were arguing, getting more and more rambunctious. Alannah just shook her head and went off in search of a box of the Christmas chocolates.

A loud buzzer came from the TV, followed by the sound of the crown cheering. The men were grinning.

"Charlotte, you have won the hockey debate," Andrew announced. "Take your crown."

"That's because the game is over and there's only a minute to celebration time," the matriarch of the Reeves family pointed out. "Change the channel."

"To which one? There's about fifteen different countdowns and galas," Rosalyn snapped irritably. Megan was starting to think that maybe, they should celebrate in a conference call or something. All of her sisters got annoyed and quick to anger if they stayed up past eleven o'clock for any reason. That was why the ups and downs were fast coming.

The countdown was on the television screen now. "FIVE…FOUR…THREE…TWO… ONE! Happy New Year!" Cheers erupted on both the screen and in the living room. Megan shifted the sleeping Olivia on her lap and took a celebratory sip of her champagne. Oddly enough, she felt very empty as she watched everyone hug and kiss one another. She was detached from the excitement.

Olivia rolled over and blinked. "Is it time?"

"It is now, Livvie," Megan replied. "Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year, Auntie Meg!" Olivia was wide awake now, realizing what time it was. "Mommy, it's the New Year!"

"Yes, it is, sweetie." Alannah picked up her daughter, cuddling her close.

"Happy New Year, Megan," Charlotte murmured, holding out an arm.

Megan clinked her glass with her mother's. "The same to you, Mom." They hugged and Megan looked over Charlotte's shoulder, to lock eyes with Milo.

He turned away from her.

* * *

I have an accept-all policy for reviews...

* * *


	10. Decisions, Decisions

**A/N: **Thanks again for the reviews. It makes me very happy.

Chapter 11: Decisions, Decisions

**June, 2000**

_1. Something caught her eye and it was all downhill from there._

_2. It would be much better than spending the rest of her life in that stupid diner. Actually, anything would._

_3. She found out later, that the adrenaline and the training were much better than she thought._

_4. They had practically spelled out her personality there. _

_5. And maybe, she could do something that would make something better for someone else._

"You look tired," Charlotte observed as Megan slammed the door, making everything in the apartment shake.

"Yeah, well." Megan dumped her stuff on the counter, opened the fridge, pouring herself a glass of disgusting, cheap wine and made her way to a chair, in which she fell like a rock into water. "Long day."

Charlotte turned a page in her book, but said nothing. She did, however, reek of silent criticisms. Megan sighed, letting her mother know she got the message already. Six months into the year, and so far Charlotte had seen no evidence of Megan attempting to make a go at a career.

Megan, on the other hand, was continuing to narrow down her focus in the job world. She was leaning towards something in the civil service sector – she had the necessary communication and social skills. Although, a blue-blooded Reeves such as herself would shun that kind of thing, as it was comparable to becoming a drug lord and a con artist all at the same time. The moratorium on her ideas wasn't really going to stop her. Megan hadn't shown too much sensitivity where the issue of what her family thought had come up in the last few years. It may have been harsh, but that was the reality of the twisted relationships they had. Reconciled mostly, until a decision that the others didn't approve of came up. It was like that with all of them. "What do you think we should have for supper, Mom?"

"Whatever you want to have, dear."

"How about I order some Indian food?" Megan rummaged around in a drawer, searching for her takeout menus. They were a staple in her life, mostly because her cooking left something to be desired, especially if she was really hungry.

She needed her cheap takeout food through and IV. It would've been more practical, because she would end up skipping her lunch break, if it meant she would get a few extra dollars. She was desperate and vaguely pathetic.

"I'll do that," Charlotte offered, taking the phone from her daughter. "You go get changed."

She accepted her mother's gesture, quite frankly happy to get out of the room. Ever since January, the air between mother and daughter was becoming hostile again; Charlotte worrying about Megan, and Megan getting frantic over her job prospects. She had to announce some sort of a decision very soon: time was running out, and she could hear the days tick off to her thirtieth birthday – less than a year and a half until she hit that milestone. To some, it seemed far away. To her, it was closer than the minute she breathed, and she was getting antsy with her indecision over a job, or school.

Megan came back out into the living room wearing jeans and a faded t-shirt. charlotte had just hung up and turned when she heard Megan's footsteps behind here. "It'll come in twenty-five minutes."

"Okay." She started opening cupboards, pulling out utensils and dishes with practiced ease. She set the table in a flash and flopped back onto the couch, waiting.

"How was work?"

"Fine. It's fine."

"Have you -"

"No."

"I see."

An awkward silence dropped onto them. For the last few days, these silences had been falling out if the sky. Charlotte's visit was turning out to be more of an interrogation than a pleasant few days spent together, as much as possible, instead of the rushed visits that would occur in the fall, as Charlotte wanted to make the rounds with all of her girls at least twice before Christmas, and have some downtime, too.

"I'll be back," she declared loudly. She was trying to destroy the sound barrier.

"Where are you going?" Charlotte asked. "The food will be here."

"It'll keep," Megan replied. "I just have something I have to do."

"Well, okay." Charlotte looked skeptical, but made no moves to stop her.

"There's money on the counter," Megan called. "Use it."

The apartment door shut, and Megan almost ran down the hall, feeling lighter than she had when confronted with her mother's questioning face.

A smoky, barbeque-y scent greeted her as she left the dark inside of building in exchange for the summery evening. It was one of those lazy, perfect summer nights, and she looked at all of the people who were aimlessly strolling along, with a hint of envy. Too many of her actions and thoughts were devoted to a purpose of some sort.

She quickened her pace as she noticed the sky getting subtly darker- it was fairly late. Megan had almost no concept of time anymore, which annoyed Charlotte to no end. Besides, the library would close in two hours and not be open for the next three days. That was what she got for living in a small town with only one librarian.

Barging in the library, Megan found that she was the only person to be in there, besides the librarian. Surprise, surprise. Not too many people felt the burning desire to research all of Tolstoy's works on a beautiful summer night. "Hi, Marcia," she greeted the middle-aged woman. Marcia got her breakfast every single morning at the diner where Megan worked weekdays. _Medium coffee, two sugars, one cream. And two blueberry muffins, one carrot muffin. _

The older woman put her novel down and peered over her glasses at Megan. "Hello, there, Megan. What can I do for you tonight?"

"I was wondering about using a computer." Megan rested her finger tips on the top of the desk.

"Sure, not a problem, hon." Marcia took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. "I'll need your library card."

She slid the card across the counter to Marcia, who took it, and slipped it into a slot in a booklet. "You'll be on computer number two."

"One's down again?"

Marcia led Megan through the maze of bookshelves to the corner where the computers lay. "The IT guy has to come in. When I first started here, we never had this much trouble. Of course, we didn't have computers then. I'll never understand why you're always in here, on one of these confounded things."

"It's a mystery to me, too," Megan assured her.

"It's all yours." Marcia hit the power button on the hard drive. "You know when I'm closing up, don't you?"

"I do." Megan watched Marcia bustle back to the front desk and then switched her gaze to the computer screen. It was being sloth-like and she resisted the urge to slam her foot into the desk. Destroying in the computer would be satisfying, yes, but not exactly fruitful. So, Megan kept her calm and waited for the machine to stop humming and for all of its lights to stop blinking.

The internet took its good, sweet time to connect. _Damn network computers_. They drove her crazy. "Hurry _up_." she mumbled, tapping her foot and casting her gaze to her watch. She'd been gone forty minutes already. Wistfully, Megan allowed a quick thought in the direction of supper, before wiping it away to focus on the task at hand.

Job research was tedious, to say the least. She started her search by going onto Google. A good place to start.

The jangle of keys started to come towards her. Megan kept one ear trained on the noise and the rest of her senses focused on the computer screen.

Soon enough, Marcia rounded the corner again, and stopped, placing a hand on the bookshelf. Megan turned to look, casting a questioning look on the librarian, who smiled guiltily. "I just got a call from my daughter, and I have to run. Do you mind locking up when you leave?' Megan must've looked doubtful, so Marcia back-tracked:

"I have to run, and I don't want to kick you out, so I'll trust you to lock up."

"Sure. That's fine."

Marcia smiled gratefully. "Thank you so much. I'll over tip tomorrow." She cleared her throat. "I've turned everything off and set up the alarm systems to kick in at closing, so make sure you're out by then."

"I will."

"All you have to do is lock the front door; everything else is locked up. Your library card is on top of the front desk." Marcia started to edge away.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Marcia," Megan called, brushing her hair away.

"I'm thinking of lunch tomorrow," Marcia replied over her shoulder. "What's the sopu of the day tomorrow?"

"Minastroni, I think."

"Thanks, Megan. Have a good night."

"'Night." She turned her attention back to the computer in front of her, typing in an address and waiting. She began the slow, painstaking process that always came, when she needed answers. It was irksome, but since she did this at least once a week; most weeks, twice, Megan had become accustomed to the digging she had to do to get some information. She plunged into the reading.

* * *

_**August, 1988**_

_She stopped and stared at the boarding house she was living in. Holy crap. What the hell was going on? She ran up to the crowd on the sidewalk, pushing her way through the nosy neighbours. Now she was glad she was so tall. "Excuse me!" she exclaimed, grasping attention from the crowd. "Could someone just tell me what's going on here?"_

_An elderly woman from two doors down stared at her. "Honey, they're raiding the place."_

"_For _what_?" Megan stared down the old lady, trying to figure out what was happening right there._

"_They found something in there, obviously." The woman gave Megan a vicious, annoyed glare and looked away._

"_But, but – I _live_ there!" she sputtered. This was unbelievable. Three months into her vagabond lifestyle and was already in major trouble for something she didn't do. _Shit. _This was not a good situation, by the sounds of it._

_She stood and watched, like everyone else. This was probably dangerous, and she couldn't figure out why so many really old people wanted to watch…what the hell? Was that her landlord, holding a gun? Interesting. She watched in fascination, subconsciously realizing that standing within twenty feet of a guy holding a gun was not very smart. _

_Megan was right. Her crazy landlord fired off four rounds, each time drawing her eyes to the scene of the crime, instead of trying to think about being safe. Everyone did the same thing: dive for the ground. The police fired back, just nicking the landlord's shoulder. He crumpled and they ran forward. _

_When she stood up, after thinking about how she was going to have to find a new place, was that: that was truly intriguing. She tucked the thought of law-enforcement behind her thoughts of registering for public school and promptly forgot about it.

* * *

_

**June, 2000**

The Federal Bureau of Investigation official website appeared magically before her eyes. For some reason, she couldn't remember typing it in, or clicking on a link. "You're losing your mind, Megan," she sing-songed. "Insanity is not an occupation that pays well." Her normal embarrassment at being found talking to herself had dissipated entirely.

Megan tilted her chair back and made a tent out of her fingers while her eyes buzzed over the screen, taking in every word on the start page. Well, this was interesting, much more than any of the other items she had read about other different jobs. This was borderline fascinating.

Change that: it was fascinating. She now leaned forward to get a better look at the computer and take in the site's content better. She started to click faster through the pile of information, inhaling each new fact and combining it with her list of information she took as crucial.

With every individual grouping of facts, Megan felt more and more drawn to search around for even more shreds to add to the cavity of her brain she'd divided off for this.

_She wanted to go train as an FBI agent_. Did she come to this realization because her mother had been skillfully, silently nagging her to get on to a career and move forward with it? Or was it because she was so desperate she was willing to settle? Or was it that day long ago, where she had taken a passing interest in being some sort of law enforcement official? She didn't know; she couldn't psycho-analyze herself to figure out what was going on up there. But she just knew she wanted to be an agent.

She gnawed her fingernail, trying to find a reason, any reason that would prevent her from packing up and heading south to Virginia to train. She couldn't see anything that would really stop her from trying to do something with her (thus far, non-existent) career.

Every word on the screen had been read and re-read and an infinite amount of times. Still, Megan's eyes ran over each sentence, just skimming the words and smearing them together in her mind. She decided on a new page, one that hadn't been memorized yet, one that hadn't pulled her in so much.

She clicked on the next icon, deliberately and with force. The page that slowly popped up read, "Apply for a Job." Those were the words that had attracted most of her attention. Entrance exams? Applying to the FBI academy? Wasn't that a tad unrealistic? For future reference, she didn't know what she was doing.

Megan scrolled through her education and other skills. Psychology courses and several years of Krav Maga were under her belt. Maybe not so unrealistic. She scrolled through the requirements just to get into the academy, getting a general idea of the idea of the tests she would need to pass to get there.

Megan dug around in her pocket, her fingers lighting on the necessary change. She took one last, lingering look at the webpage, before she settled on the print icon.

That night, she started her application to take the entrance exam at the FBI academy.


	11. Shades of Grey

**A/N: **Again, thank you for your reviews.

Chapter 11: Shades of Grey

**December, 2001**

Megan tapped her pen on the table, clearly annoyed and tired of waiting. Waiting was the one part of cases that she did not enjoy. And, this one in particular, involved more waiting around than usual.

She was on loan from the Behavioural Analysis Unit currently, working on a case that several agents poking their noses around a small town in Maine, looking for a major player in a drug operation. They had taken to not only robbing banks and stores, but also murdering several of their associates and other civilians, on top of being the major driving force in the drug culture in New England. Theft, perjury, fraud, murder, kidnapping across state lines – they had done it all and hadn't quite been caught. Megan was wondering what the hell these people were doing putzing around Maine, but it made sense if you peeled back the layers: Jason Markov and Shelley O'Reilly were New Englanders, but the also had good reasoning for staying here: it was easier to hide in a place that they knew than in a city that they were unfamiliar with. As well, many of their associates were from the area. The only information they had regarding Markov's and O'Reilly's whereabouts was the usual slew of tips, most of them pointing in this direction.

The agent in charge of the investigation, Tom Blake, stood at the front of the cramped room. They had taken over a house and were using the rooms for different items. Currently, all of them had been called into the kitchen. Agents were laughing, jostling one another, trying to pinpoint who had made the really bad coffee. "Yeah, yeah," Blake called, his bass booming over the din. "Go into town and get your caffeine later. Now shut up and listen."

Laughter swelled as the agents moved around to see what was going on. "While the rest of you were doing God knows what -" more laughter "- some of the techs and a few agents managed to come up with a for-sure location. I'll take a team out there. As well, we have a list of property that is suspected to be connected to Markov and O'Reilly's operations." He hit the table with his fist to keep them quiet. "Teams will go out to those ones. You can thank Abby, James and Tracey for this later."

A few mutters floated up, the discussion of the agents putting the last few shards back into the bowl of glass that was their case. Blake let them talk, with an unreadable expression on his face. Megan tilted her head and went over the weeks in her mind. _Strangely amused_, she decided, as he opened his mouth to speak. "Riley, Shaw, Howard and LeBlanc, you take your people over to these places." Blake handed over the typed list. "Allen, Darcy, MacDonald and Kim, you're with me. Reeves, you too. Let's go.

Megan stood up, letting her pen lie on the table. It had been battered, as her tapping had gotten more furious during the waiting process. She followed Blake to get the gear.

"It's about twenty kilometres out of here," Blake told them as he fastened on the Kevlar. "A suspect finally caved during interrogation with Langdon and gave us what they knew. Our techs built off of that."

Knowing Special Agent Greg Langdon, Megan knew exactly what had made the suspect cave. She wouldn't want to be in the interrogation room with Langdon asking her where the hell Markov and O'Reilly were. The guy would be having nightmares for the next six months of his life. She snapped on her Kevlar vest, securing her gun.

"We should find O'Reilly and some of her cronies at this location. Markov will be at one of the others that are being taken down, if the suspect was right." Blake looked at the cluster of agents. "Ready? Good."

All of them piled into the standard black SUV, tense with concentration on the task ahead of them. By the time they got to the property, Megan could feel the intense focus become tangible, and it weighed down on her. Everyone else did too, apparently, because they all looked relieved to get out.

Blake assessed the building and land before them. His voice sounded hollow in the still winter air. "Allen, Darcy, MacDonald, you take the back. Reeves, Kim – front." He nodded towards the house. "Move in. Go!"

Megan studied the door, training her gun o it. "No wire."

"Fair enough." Blake turned to the other agent, Joseph Kim. "One…two…three…GO!"

They busted down the door and moved in, guns aloft and ready to fire if necessary. "FBI!" Blake yelled ahead of Kim and Megan. He signaled for them to join him in the room. Megan walked behind Blake's imposing stance that was blocking the doorway and took in the scene in front of her.

The other group of agents was standing on the other side with expressionless faces, all of them aiming for O'Reilly. One man was lying on the floor in a pool of blood, and by the wild look in O'Reilly's eyes and the gun in her hand. Megan had an idea of who killed him. Casings were lying on the ground, a few bullet holes marring the wall, chunks of plaster lying in the seeping pool of blood. Megan swallowed and looked at the rest of the people in the room. Besides O'Reilly, the dead man and the agents, there were two women and another man. These three had positioned themselves defensively, but were looking to O'Reilly for direction. Just as the agents were looking to Blake for some kind of direction.

"Drop the gun, Shelley," Blake commanded, sounding almost bored.

O'Reilly spun to look at him, still aiming her gun at the other agents. A strange, twisted smile came over her face. "Congratulations, Agent Blake. You finally have me cornered. Nice, isn't it?"

"We'll have lots of time to catch up when you're in jail, waiting for your appeal on death row," Blake replied. "I look forward to it. Now put down the gun, Shelley."

"Been waiting for this for a long time, huh?" O'Reilly made no moves to put down the gun; just kept smiling widely at Blake. "Ever since that first bust in ninety-eight and I got away."

Megan's voice, so steely calm she didn't recognize it as coming from her, until after the fact, said, "Drop it." She was far more commanding than Blake, with his casual attitude.

"New blood," O'Reilly breathed. "She's a lot more persuasive than you are, Agent Blake."

"Again, I would love to continue this conversation, Shelley, but really," Blake replied. "Drop. The. Gun."

No one made any moves. O'Reilly stood ramrod-straight, holding her gun. Blake was in his position of dominance over the situation; the rest of the agents had enclosed the group. The two women and the remaining man looked around, their eyes shifty and scared.

The first person to break the silence of the room was the taller of the two women. She reached for what was definitely the holster of a gun, and a bullet went whizzing through the air and hit the woman square in the stomach. Another followed; this time, the chest. The woman hit the ground to join the man, another pool of blood forming. Megan clenched her jaw and refrained from following her instincts, which really wanted to hurt O'Reilly in any way that she could.

"Bitch," O'Reilly growled in direction of the now dead woman. "Never knew when to let someone else handle it." She glared at her remaining two associates with eyes of fire.

"Shelley," Blake said, his voice no longer amiable. "Drop the gun and move your ass."

"What will happen to me if I don't?" she challenged. "What could possibly be worse than what will happen to me when I go with you? Tell me, Agent Blake. What are you going to do to me if I don't?"

Arguments with criminals would remain much the same for the rest of her years in the FBI, before and after this particular case. Every time, Megan would fall back on the feelings she felt now to get her through: an outward calm propelled by inward emotions of frantic desperation and a kind of sad anger.

And every time, she'd realize at a time of need, that she was scared of what was going to happen there. To cover up the feelings of fear, she shifted her grip on her gun and aimed with a little more precision.

"Well, Agent?" O'Reilly demanded. Instead of aiming for Allen and Darcy, she turned her attention to watch her associates tremble. They were facing the barrel of her gun now. "What's going to happen?"

Megan looked sideways at Blake and noticed Kim doing the same. Blake was perfectly composed. Or so it seemed. Megan caught the barely pulsing temple. Nonetheless, it was there. She arched an eyebrow at Kim, letting him know that Blake was either going to blow his top or move this negotiation a lot faster. Neither looked like a good idea. The frantic desperation started to edge out the deceiving calm. She inhaled, and then exhaled to calm her nerves. _Freaking out is really not a good plan, Megan. Remember the hundreds of other cases you've done. _She didn't move an inch.

"Once I get you out of here, it's out of my control," Blake said finally. "You don't come with me, I can't promise anything. It's not going to be a happy ending, either way. Cooperation is your best bet."

O'Reilly nodded fractionally, and then decided she had enough of talking with the FBI agents behind her and in front of her. She swung her gun at Blake and fired. She forgot to account for the fact that someone would fire first. A tendril of the faintest smoke exited Megan's gun as O'Reilly fell to the ground, a neat circle of blood pooling on the fabric of her shirt.

Megan lowered her gun and placed it back in its holster, feeling her fingers tremble a little. That hadn't happened since her first academy days.

"Good job, Megan," Blake murmured, patting her shoulder. "That was a beautiful shot."

"Thanks." She took a look around the room.

"Joe called the medics."

"Okay."

He patted her shoulder again. "I'll see you out there." He kicked the man that he'd cuffed. She hadn't even noticed. "Move your ass. I'm not waiting for you."

She stepped back to look at O'Reilly. The woman's face eyes were frozen open, and there was that last second of fear there – forever.

A medic pushed past her, carrying a stretcher. A formality, she knew, but she bit her lip to keep from blurting: "She's dead, dammit! I shot her in the chest myself!" Instead, she gave them a curt nod and walked back out of the house.

The scene in the front was a complete contrast with the scene they had arrived to. Two ambulances were parked, with people getting checked out to make sure they were fine; agents, local police officers, medics and reporters milled about. Megan paused at the steps of the house, just watching everything and letting the events that had just transpired sink in. She gathered that the members of O'Reilly's and Markov's groups that had been caught had been taken away. Some of her fellow agents had made a hasty exit.

Six months into her work at the FBI, and there had been many, many cases and many, many shots fired. Today was the first time she had shot and killed someone on the spot. It was sobering. She had resigned herself to the fact that this was what she had to do since the first day on her first case – training was never really enough to prepare a person for the real thing. She was, now, thinking of her own mortality. Whether she was the one shooting the gun, being shot at, or watching the scene, every time it hit her. Megan felt an unmistakable sadness now, even if she didn't know the woman she had killed, even if she knew what O'Reilly had done.

Slowly, Megan put one foot in front of the other, forcing her self to move from the place where she seemed to have sprung roots. She walked down off the steps, past the ambulances, police cars and cameras, straight to the edge of the front yard, where the SUV was still parked. She shut her eyes and put all of her weight against the vehicle, no longer trusting her legs to do the job anymore.

She reached a hand up to her face, and let the lone tear trickle down the side of her finger.

* * *

As always, reviews are appreciated.


	12. Messages

**A/N: **I've hit that time in the school year again where the school musical is being put on. Since my soul currently belongs to the directors, I'll be updating as much as I can, but I fear that it will be a little sporadic. Sorry. I'll do my best.

Again, I thank everyone who reviewed. You guys pretty much make my day!

Chapter 12: Messages

**March, 2003**

Lillian, the housekeeper of the Reeves mansion even now, had neatly stacked the mail upon the foyer table, so that someone would spot it as they went by. Charlotte was the one to pick it up today, even if Milo had passed the table one hundred times before she had even woken up. She crossed the foyer into the living room, sorting through the envelopes as she went. A pile of mail always came to the house, most of it junk, but there was always a few gems among the sand.

Milo was sitting in the living room, reading the paper. A paper, at the very least. Ever since he had retired from orthodontia, the subscriptions to newspapers had started to pile up. Charlotte wished he would take up golf instead of trying to find out what was going on in a small town in Arizona. "Is that the mail?" he asked her absently. "I'm expecting a letter."

Charlotte combed through the stack of envelopes, plucking out each piece of post that was addressed only to him. "It must be one of those," she murmured.

"Thank you." He placed down the paper and took the bills, letters and invitations from her.

"You're welcome." Charlotte disappeared into the study for a moment, and came back, her fingers loosely clasped around a letter opener.

After a few bills and invitations, one thank-you note and two letters from friends, Charlotte chanced across a card. "That came quite fast," she commented.

Milo stared up at her. "Jessica's card," she explained. "Three days ago, Jeffery was born?" She handed him a photo. "Our first grandson."

"Ah, yes." Milo adjusted his glasses and smiled fondly at photograph. "He's got the look of a Reeves."

"How can you tell? He's only three days old," she chided.

"You can tell." He placed the photo on the table beside him gently. "We'll get that framed."

"I'll call Edward after lunch."

Silence fell on them again as Charlotte continued her sojourn through the mail. A slightly smudged envelope was addressed to her, with no return address. Megan's familiar handwriting danced across the surface, and charlotte heaved a sigh. What was her youngest up to now? She was rather hoping that this FBI stint was a phase, like so many of Megan's other interests had been in the past, but it appeared the opposite. Megan had become quite decisive as of late.

Charlotte sliced her way into the envelope recklessly. There was only a single sheet, plain with neat writing in green ink. _"Dear, Mom, sorry I haven't called in a while. I'm fine. I can't really talk right now, if you catch my drift. I'm writing on a 'coffee break.' I just wanted to check in. Love, Megan." _

She shook her head. Once a shirker of work, Megan was displaying signs of a workaholic…she allowed herself to drift into days of yore for a few minutes. But then again, Megan had to be. Charlotte checked the date on top of the paper. _"March 19." _Megan had dashed that off a week ago.

"What have you got there?" Milo asked, taking his gaze off of the bill he was studying and putting it on the piece of plain stationary in her hand.

"It's a letter." Charlotte smoothed out the sheet. "Just a note from Megan, letting us know she's still alive. I believe she's in the middle of a case."

Milo made a small, disgruntled noise. "I see." A shadow darkened his face. "I'll be in the study."

A door slammed after that, and Charlotte frowned at Megan's letter. "I'm crazy for wishing, aren't I?"

* * *

Her case was finishing up now, and Megan had a little more time to breathe now. This time, she was on loan from the BAU to a filed office a small distance from her home base. It was only her working with this team, and after going to their office for the past three and a half weeks, she was starting to miss the friendly chaos of her desk at the BAU. She preferred it when they were working with teams at home. Let the others be uprooted; she wasn't always appreciative of being assigned to go off and consult in different places. Besides, Jane at her office made the best coffee of anywhere that that she'd been so far.

Taking her stack of files and an empty coffee cup, Megan bade a short good-bye to the agents and left their office, leaving no evidence that she was there, except her statement and notes in the case files. She made her way to the parking garage and sat in the car, resting her head on the steering wheel. She had checked out of the hotel this morning, and was an hour and a half away from her house.

Megan was tired. If she left now, and drove straight through, she'd be home by six o'clock in the evening. Not bad; the hours she'd been putting in had not been indicative of an early finish. She decided on going home, even if the relatively short journey home seemed monumental to her at the moment.

Her GPS kicked into gear, and guiltily her eyes flickered over the place name that she had plugged in. for the past three and a half weeks, she'd been in the city where Jessica lived and hadn't even bothered to call, even after getting a phone message from Kevin, telling her that he was now a father and that little Jeffery Mark Isaac was born eight pounds, six ounces. As far as she knew, they were still at the hospital, waiting for the okay to go home.

Megan backed out of the parking space, gritting her teeth in disgust. "My need to make amends is making me ill," She announced to the music playing on the radio. Classic rock, of course. "Try to work on that, Reeves."

The hospital was all of four blocks away. Megan parked in the visitor's parking lot, paid the seven bucks or whatever astronomical price it was to park and was curtly informed by the parking garage attendant that visiting hours ended at eight-thirty.

She ignored the stupid stripes and dots that led to different areas of the hospital, knowing full well that the green dots that led to geriatrics would invariably lead her to the morgue (she had seen too many of _those_), or orthopedics instead. She marched up to an irate nurse and asked for directions. It helped, that if she shifted a certain way, her gun was visible under her jacket. The glint of her badge when she moved was also quite helpful.

She was pointed to the fourth floor. There, she used the same tactics to ask a nurse headed down the hallway towards her. Megan thanked the nurse with a genuine smile and a rare pleasantry. Small talk didn't often figure into her daily life.

Kevin was there, sitting on the bed, while an overjoyed Jessica cradled her son. Megan paused at the door, watching the adorable family moment, and then tapped lightly on the doorframe.

"Megan!" Jessica exclaimed, genuinely surprised. "You're a little off the beaten path, aren't you?"

"I had some work in the area," Megan explained, just leaving out the details that would cause a scene because Jessica would perceive some sort of slight – she did not ant to get into it tonight. "I remembered the message…so I came."

Jessica handed the baby to Kevin and hugged Megan tightly. "I'm so happy you came."

"Oh!" she said. "Me, too." She accepted the baby from Kevin, holding the bundle of warmth. It had been a little while since she'd held a baby – Megan hadn't seen Alannah or her kids in almost three years and Rosalyn was happy being a "career woman" or whatever Charlotte had termed her. "Hell-lo," she cooed softly, enjoying the weight in her arms. "He's got your eyes, Jess."

"You sure?"

"Same shape, soon will be the same colour. Just wait and see." She gave the baby back to Kevin, who smiled and thanked her. He kissed his son's head and placed him in the open arms of Jessica, looking apologetically at them.

"My shift starts at four tomorrow morning,' he explained. "I'll come get you two tomorrow."

"Love you," Jessica replied.

"Love you, too,' Kevin said to her. "Good to see you, Megan."

"Don't tell me you have to leave, too," Jessica complained, shifting the baby. "I could use the company."

"Well, yes, I eventually have to leave – I have to be at work early tomorrow for a briefing on the current case." Megan stretched, feeling the weariness in her bones. "But I can stay for a little while."

"Good." Jessica twisted a strand of hair between her fingers. "I wanted to ask you something."

Megan nodded. "Go ahead."

"I was wondering…" She cleared her throat and frowned at her younger sister. "I hate when you look at me like that. I feel like you can see my thoughts, and that you know everything about me. It's quite effective, in case you're wondering."

"Thanks." Megan crossed her legs. "So, you were saying…?"

"I was wondering if you would – if you'd like to be Jeffery's godmother." Jessica said this all in a rush, the air whooshing out of her at breakneck speeds.

"I thought you guys weren't really into that."

"It would make Mom happy, so really, what's the harm?"

"Point taken." Megan reverted to her familiar habit of nibbling on her fingernail, a small smile coming into view. "Yes, of course I'll be his godmother."

"Really?" Jessica looked so surprised that Megan had to laugh.

"Yes, really." She shrugged. "Someone has to exclusively spoil him. Mom's already got her hands full."

"You are a sweetheart, Megan." Jessica beamed, lighting up the whole room. Megan decided that it was not the time to point out that "sweetheart" did not exactly describe her.

She focused on the sleeping baby – now, her godson – to ignore the feeling sudden, inexplicable sadness that engulfed her body.

* * *

Charlotte was spending a nice, quiet evening at home. After Milo's reaction to Megan that morning, she felt it best to keep her distance from him. She was walking on eggshells, yes, but she was adept at balancing. She had been for years.

She was comfortably resting on the king-sized bed in the master bedroom, watching the television when she heard the faint ring of the phone on the first floor. "Good Lord," she mumbled, getting to her feet, knowing full well that Milo was holed up in his study, with only his computer and his office line for company, as well as volumes upon volumes of classic novels. Both Rosalyn and Megan had spent their teenage years pilfering all of his first editions and returning them before he had noticed they were gone.

The phone rang once, then twice, three times and a fourth final ring before the answering machine kicked in. She heard the sound of her recorded voice as she galloped down the stairs for the foyer. _"Hello, you've reached the Reeves residence. We cannot come to the phone right now. Leave your name, number and the date after the beep and we will get back to you as soon as possible."_

Charlotte started to march over to get the telephone, but fell back when she saw Milo standing not two feet from the table, just staring at it.

"_Hi, Mom, it's Megan." _At the sound of her voice, he tensed up. _Two mentions of her in one day – what will be next? _Megan continued on: _"I just got home from work – I thought I'd call to see if you were in. I stopped by to see Jess and the baby, and she'll call you when she gets home tomorrow. I'll try you again tomorrow night. I love -" _

Milo slammed the volume button on the answering machine, muting it. From where she had stepped, into the living room, she could see his eyes blazing.

He picked up the answering machine and threw it to the floor. Charlotte heard the smash and let out a muffled squeak of surprise, before she remembered that he didn't know she was there. She wanted to keep it that way.

A strangled breath came from Milo's throat. He dusted off his hands and stormed out of the foyer, not forgetting to leave the place in darkness. His steps were measured and calm. This time, he didn't slam the door.

Charlotte stood, still concealed behind the door, in a state of jock. She felt her feet glue themselves to the rug, and had to struggle to move them forward. She trembled as she walked into the foyer, hitting the light switch. She hit it a little harder than she would've liked. The button fell of in her hand, and she placed on the table.

The pieces of the answering machine were lying in a array of glistening metal and plastic. For one hilarious second, Charlotte considered taking a picture of it for Alannah, who had loved photography and any abstract photograph.

The ribbon of the cassette was coming loose from its case. Charlotte knelt down and gently scooped up each piece, placing them in a neat pile on the table. "Wishing for something that isn't going to happen _is_ crazy," she whispered.

Finally, she stood up, and slipped out of the foyer, not knowing that Milo was watching her, a pensive look in his eyes.

* * *

Reviews are welcome. 


	13. Those Magic Changes

**A/N: **I have been blessed with a snow day, so I decided on an update.

Chapter 13: Those Magic Changes

**June, 2005 **

Megan looked over her glasses at the perpetrator. He shifted under her steady gaze, and she felt a smile underneath her stern mask. This was the way she liked it. She had him. "Really? You said that you were at your house at seven-thirty that night. However, this camera has you at a store almost ten kilometers away at seven-twenty." She expertly shoved the still, date-stamped, towards him. "You're covering up for him, Edwards." She waited a beat, and then got up and marched out.

"Let him stew for a while, make him wonder what exactly we know." The agent viewing the questioning, Noah Ryan grinned. "Good on you, Megan."

"Thanks. Any insight?"

He shrugged. "It's pretty standard stuff – oh, yeah, Johnson wants to see you in his office, pronto."

"In the middle of questioning?" She snapped her glasses together and scowled.

"I just give messages, Reeves." Noah put his feet up and gave her a half-smile. "Jane will take it over, you go find out what he wants."

"Nothing, good, I'm guessing." She started to walk the ten feet where Johnson's imposing office door was, as if to remind them he was in-charge, all the time, never ceasing. Pompous ass. In the six months since he had arrived to take charge of their office, Johnson had managed to alienate all of the agents who had to work under his command.

She knocked on the door, waited a moment, and walked in when he called for her. Miller Johnson was an experienced agent – and slightly bitter about being put in the BAU. This was why he always gave her confused, vaguely angry looks, because it was clear that Megan enjoyed her work in the unit. He gave her that look now, mixed with what she decided was some sort of perverse pleasure. She couldn't wait for the bomb he was about to drop on her. "Sit," he intoned, pointing to the chair opposite him. Megan manufactured a smile to wear and complied, waiting for him to start.

He did, folding his hands, and pushing a file at her. She made no moves to open it. "You're a good agent, Reeves," he began. _Must have gotten that from a book that tells you how to begin a meeting with a co-worker that you don't particularly like_, she thought, tilting her head to listen. "Some think you're a catch. I got a request from a team for a profiler. Their current profiler has been transferred to Washington."

"Yes?"

"Put the pieces together, Reeves. I didn't peg you as stupid."

"I'm going to be the profiler for that team."

Johnson leaned back in his chair and studied her. "In Los Angeles."

"In Los Angeles?" she repeated, wanting it to be a lie.

"Yes, Megan." He rolled his eyes, looking frustrated. " Los Angeles. Land of smog, celebrities and sunshine. You'll be going there in a month."

"I see."

"Good." Was that a smirk from him? She knew that she was one of the thorns up his ass, for reasons yet to be explained, but really. "All the details you need will be in that folder."

She swiped it off the desk and gave him a curt nod. "Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome, Reeves." He adjusted his glasses and gave her his patented five-star scowl. "What are you waiting for?"

"Nothing." As quickly as she'd come, Megan slipped out of the room. She stopped at the outside of Johnson's doorway and stared at the file folder. The first page inside was the official document discussing her transfer to Los Angeles. She looked at the severe black type, noting the feeling of finality in the sentences on the paper.

"Hey, Megan." Noah jogged over to her. "I love when Marty calls us in to help out – what have you got there?"

Wordlessly, she held out the file. He took it from her, frowning as he flipped through the papers. Finally, shutting it, Noah gave it back and gave her an appraising look. "I guess you're leaving for the land that humanity forgot."

"What?"

"Nothing. Just a reference about all the hype over there."

"Someone hates California. Why?"

"It's that typical small-town upbringing and being resentful of other places." They started to walk back to their cubicle. Megan tossed the file onto her desk, on top of other stacks. Somehow, she couldn't help but think about how this would be someone else's desk in a month's time. _Not the time to get nostalgic_. She'd have to start making her phone calls tonight. Damn Johnson, for recommending her to that team. And now she was headed off to California. What was in California, anyway? Ocean? She could go surfing. That image made her grin a bit. Water was not her friend.

Noah sunk into his chair across from her and swiveled to watch her absorb the new information. Megan didn't break her composure – instead, she started in on statement for the case that had just closed during her meeting. Her leaving would affect everyone. Most of all, her leaving would affect him.

They had come to the BAU at about the same time and had been assigned to work together. He was used to seeing her every day. Sometimes, she had joined him and his wife during the holidays. "What am I going to do without you to tell me what to do, Megan?" he demanded. "I'll have to form my own opinions."

"Ha, ha. Maybe you'll spend a lot more time talking to Johnson?" she suggested, knowing how much he'd raged when Johnson had first shown up and basically overturned the office.

"Thanks. Somehow, I'm not quite so sorry to see you go now."

Megan laughed lightly and scooped up the folder that seemed to contain her future. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Clear your calendar. When I tell Tina that you're leaving, she'll want to have you over for dinner."

"I will." She clicked down the corridor, and decided to run down the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. From the looks of the line, she'd be waiting for a long time.

It was a short drive from the office to her duplex. She pulled into the driveway, took a look at the place and sighed. She'd be selling her part of the house, probably to her boyfriend.

He was already home, she noted, buy the scent of food wafting out to her nose, by the door. "Hey," she called out to him. "I'm home."

"You think?" The accented English made her smile. Jean-Luc turned around to look at her, chewing on a carrot. "Here." He handed her a biscuit, which she found to be pleasantly warm.

"Mmm…this is really good," she mumbled through a bite of the biscuit. "We need to talk."

"Swallow." He sat at the table across from her and waited. _Monosyllabic – how is it that I say one hundred words for everyone one of his and I don't even talk that much? _

"I was called to the director's office today," she began, "and handed a file. I'm getting transferred to Los Angeles."

"_Oui_." Jean-Luc crossed his arms and nodded. "What now?"

"What do you think should happen?" she asked in return.

"Megan, you are going to be the one going all the way across the country." He shrugged. "It shall be your decision. I will be supportive."

"Jean-Luc." She got up. "I'll just – I'm going to go figure some stuff out, okay?" Without waiting for an answer, Megan padded down the hall, clutching the folder to her chest. She collapsed on the bed, and kicked her high, teetering boots on the floor. She wasn't sure if she'd made dirt marks on the duvet cover, and right now, she was too preoccupied to give it more than a fleeting thought. Instead, she decided to look at all of the contents of the folder and not just the statement containing her current job situation. There was an overview of her career with the FBI, another statement that would be going to Los Angeles about her arrival. All she found on her new address of work was that exactly: the address and the phone number. That was helpful. _Thanks, Johnson._ She slammed the cardboard shut and lay back on the bed. She needed to think about what was going to happen in the next month, the next week and the next day, because they were too close for comfort. For some reason, her free spirit had flown away the moment she had decided to pull it together, duck her head and listen to her mother about going back to school. Now, instead of flitting around, she had grown attached to the place and her work. Serendipity had made sure to pull her up again when she was comfortable.

Megan ran a hand through her hair and pulled it back from her face, taking an elastic from her dresser and knotting up her mane of hair. If possible, her hair had gotten even more high-maintenance. And it was one of those bad hair days.

_Eyes on the target, Megan. _She managed to pin her focus back down onto the papers she had spread all over the bed. Her laptop was plugged in over on the dresser, and with the paper that contained the LA office address, she quickly maneuvered her way onto the internet, to search for apartment listings near the office building. She had a strong feeling that there would be a breakup in her very near future, because she couldn't ask him to just pack up his life and quit playing for his hockey team to come with her. Megan sighed, the annoyance and frustration that she felt alarming apparent in her facial expression.

Coming up with hundreds of apartments near the building, she started to comb through them. Her eyes were blurring, trying to figure out what all of the abbreviations meant and trying to read the screen without her glasses. She groped for them on the dresser, knocking them off in her attempts to grab them.

She wanted to scream in anger. She bent down to pick up the glasses and almost violently jabbed them onto her face, ready to tackle the job of narrowing down an apartment for her to live in when she got to LA, jet-lagged and woozy from the flight.

A hairline crack across the left lens of her glasses attracted her instead. This time, she almost did scream in frustration and shut the laptop aggressively. This evening was bringing out the angry raging multi-faceted aggression in her. They were also indicators that she was far more like her father than she cared to admit.

Megan sighed again, feeling the deep breath penetrate her chest with a sharp pain, because of the sudden force of it. She crossed the fuzzy carpet o go stand at the large window. Windows always helped her think, for an odd reason.

Jean-Luc arrived in the doorway, watching her silhouette through the light of the window. "Supper's ready, Meg," he offered, noticing how she was tapping her foot impatiently, and rocking back and forth. "Megan? Are you coming?"

"Yeah, just give me a minute, okay?" she asked irritably.

"_Bien sûr_." He held up his hands to make her back off. Megan, when provoked, was almost a national security threat. When she was upset and worried, provoking her endangered the planet. "It will be out on the table for you when you are ready."

She nodded, and turned back to the window, admiring the sunny, early summer scene. It was tranquil and pleasant, unlike her frame of mind at the moment.

The tantalizing smells of the dinner, even more tempting now that it was fully cooked, teased her senses, even as she stood on the opposite side of the part of the house they lived in. Megan started to take baby steps toward the doorway, when she noticed her cell phone, lying on the night table.

No, instead of going out to have supper with her boyfriend and discuss a mature, adult solution in regards to their relationship future, Megan scooped up the phone, and turned it on. She waited the requisite few seconds before it turned on, and then pounded out the number with controlled urgency. "Mom," she wailed into the phone, still needing that comfort from her mother.


	14. Camaraderie

**A/N: **Well, I'm back at my computer, typing away again. I'm gathering that the review/pm system is screwed up again, because I haven't gotten anything, either.

Now that I have reached canon-land, I might be tweaking things a little bit and adding here and there, but it will stay pretty close to the storyline. The timeline might be a little off, though.

Sadly, not that much longer to go.

Chapter 14: Camaraderie

**End of June 2005**

She stepped out of the elevator doors, her eyes adjusting to the dim light in the office. It was bustling, just the usual hectic panic of solving crimes and protecting people. Megan turned left off of the elevator, and kept walking. The ADIC, Walt Merrick's office door was five down, on the right side of the hallway. She knocked, and then waited. Merrick opened the door, and ushered her in. "Agent Reeves?" he asked.

"Yes."

He assumed she knew who he was, and shook her hand briskly. "You'll be working with Don Eppes and his team. They're a good group. They often use a math consultant." He saw her raise her eyebrows. "Third cubicle on the left."

"Thank you."

She saw a few men standing around: two who looked like brothers; one who was sitting down and a fourth man, who was listening to the other three. She stepped forward, and the conversation fell silent. "Agent Eppes?" she asked, looking around them.

One of the suspect brothers, with short dark hair, stepped forward. "Yes. You are?"

"Agent Megan Reeves."

He grinned. "'Bout time we got our profiler."

* * *

**July 2005**

Megan stepped out of the SUV, flicking down the requisite sunglasses, and looked the property up and down. "Rustic," she announced, after a staredown. "Guy's got good taste."

Don snorted as he fell into step beside her. "I don't think that his house-buying prowess will save him."

"Of course not."

"He picked a nice, out of the way place, huh?"

"That's good if you want to commit crimes while flying under the radar. You live in a big city; someone's going to find you a little easier."

"And if you live this far off the beaten path," Don agreed, "it'll be a little harder to find you."

"Exactly."

They started the hike up the dirt and gravel path that served as a driveway. It seemed they were correct in parking at the end, because, even after the dry summer thus far, the yard was muddy. Megan felt her boot sink slowly into the mud and cursed in her head. Don smirked slightly as he saw the annoyed look on her face. She replied with a silencing look.

She had been in LA for roughly three weeks and had already established a place in the team. Surprisingly, she was enjoying the more frenetic pace of working directly with a case and was finding it easy to be on the ball, all the time.

Don rapped on the door, stepping back, and placing a hand on his gun. He nodded at her. "Go around back."

"Got it." She pulled out her gun, slinking around the side of the house.

"Mr. Neil, it's the FBI. We have a few questions for you, nothing serious." Don's voice carried out to her hypersensitive hearing. "Open the door."

The back door was open, she found, by twisting the knob. Again, Don's voice came out to her. "Mr. Neil, FBI. _Open the door_."

A hiss of static came through the wire. "Alright, Megan, just go."

She hit the door open, placing her gun in front of her, and steered herself down the hallway. She stopped as she entered what she figured what was the living room. "Oh, my God," she breathed, lowering her gun. "This is insane."

Don looked around, from the opposite side. "This is some sort of joke. What the hell is this?"

"I have no clue."

He looked around, down to the sleeping Neil. "Unbelievable. Wake him up?"

"At the very least, to figure what this is."

"Neil is a bust," Don announced, flopping into his chair. "Cross him off."

"Yeah?" Colby asked. The junior agent was dying to know what his superiors had been laughing about when they had come back in; Don chuckling more than he usually did, Megan's face flushed with her giggles.

"He doesn't belong to the drug group." Don swiveled, and glanced up at Charlie. "Got anything else?"

"Well, what did he do?" Charlie asked, slightly petulant. "He came out in the filter for some reason. The math isn't wrong."

"No, it never is," Don replied, trying to soothe his brother's wounded pride. "It's something different."

"He's a major bootlegger," Megan replied. "He's got hundreds of DVDs, CDs, and stuff in there."

"The filter was designed to pick out the most likely drug lords," Charlie said.

"He's also a user," Don added. "He used to buy from the, several years ago. That's why he came up."

Charlie stood up. "I've been running the algorithm on the supercomputer. I should have something for you later."

Colby leaned back. "I'm guessing bootlegging wasn't that funny."

"Good job, Granger," Megan commented. "No, that was something else entirely."

"You can say that again." Don stood. "Where's David?"

"Going over the chemical signatures of drugs seized by the LAPD in the last five years,' Colby answered.

"Good." Don strode out of the cubicle.

Colby stared at Megan. She was twisting a strand of hair and flipping through files. "Yeah?" she asked.

"You guys were laughing like you just watched Dave Chappelle."

"It wasn't that funny. I'm just saying, there's something a little off with a man who decorates his lovely log cabin in Barbie." It was Megan's turn to stand up. "Any coffee left?"

"Still the pot you made." Colby was in shock. "You're kidding, right?"

"Is there any good milk left? Not that kind that you guys leave there for three weeks," Megan said, starting to walk away.

"Reeves!' Colby barked. "You're definitely kidding, right? Because that's just wrong."

She turned around, smirking at him. "Ask Don."

"Megan!" Colby watched her saunter into the break room, laughing quietly. "Megan!"

She shook her head, stirring the coffee in her cup.

* * *

**November, 2005**

"Toxic manifesto?" David asked. She could just hear him shake his head. "This case is crazy."

"You got that right," Megan answered. "You guys are up in Sibley, now, right?"

"That's where we are." David grabbed his coat. "Call if you get anything else."

"Don will make sure of that." Megan grinned ruefully. Their boss was tough on them; Don had an incredible work ethic that he was passing onto them. She preferred Don over her last boss, however. There was more of a friendly atmosphere going on. A sense of family. She inwardly winced every time she thought of that word. _Family. _She wasn't very good at being part of one.

"See you later," she said to David, settling at her desk, with the cell phone. "Have fun." She couldn't resist adding that cheeky comment.

"It beats sitting around in there."

She made a threatening noise, and David laughed. "See you, Megan."

Their part of the office was empty, except for her. Late, late, late. Don had already departed, after telling her to send David and Colby up to Sibley. She hummed under her breath as she went through the "manifesto" again. It was really advanced. Chemical formulas, equations, lists of targeted products, blasting Greybridge Pharmaceuticals…she should've skipped chemistry a little less in high school. Her mind was swimming with all of the information and she couldn't keep anything straight. A coffee break was in order.

She entered the break room, flicking on the light switch. While she was waiting for the coffee to finish, she checked the milk. Nobody had gotten any better in clearing out the fridge. She tentatively sniffed each quart, throwing out four of them and deciding that the last one wouldn't end her life a little too early.

Megan was engrossed in reading the manifesto some more, when she heard some tentative footsteps behind her. Larry stood there, looking awkward. He looked even more awkward than he had previously, and that was to talk about the manifesto. She checked her watch. Almost ten o'clock. She guessed this had nothing to do with the case right now. "Hey, Professor Fleinhardt," she greeted. "What brings you here?"

"I, uh…" he seemed to be lost. She tilted her head at him. "I was wondering if you'd be interested in joining me for luncheon in the recent future, to discuss the manifesto. It's quite fascinating, and I'm interested in learning about the psychological aspects of how…" He let the sentence trail, and nothing filled the silence, save for the hum of a computer.

She smiled, pondering the offer over and over in her mind. The CalSci crew was interesting, to say the least. She loved listening to any of them, go on about theories, or explain some method that they were using to her. Occasionally, Charlie would forget to explain, but Larry always talked something out before running through it. "Yes, I'd love to."

The relief was evident on his face. "When do you think would be an appropriate time?'

"I should have a fairly easy day tomorrow." Megan laughed softly, clearly happy about the lessening workload. "How about you call me?"

"I have your cell phone number," he assured her. A faint trace of disgust with her cell phone was evident in his eyes, and she remembered Charlie mentioning Larry's dislike of cell phones.

"Well, it was good to see you again," she commented. "It gets lonely around here, working."

"You are still going over the case?" he asked. "Even at this hour?"

"Work is never-ending around here," she explained.

He nodded. "Much like the world of physics."

* * *

**Still November 2005 – two weeks later**

Thanksgiving weekend – the time-honoured American holiday where everyone ate a ton of turkey and laid about on couches, complaining about how much they ate. It was a tradition that Megan would've gladly joined in on today. Even if she had always hated turkey, she would be happily eating, instead of sitting in the FBI office, trying to finish up the paperwork. The case had been closed almost three hours ago, and now she was slogging through the stack of papers covering her desk. "Gaah," she groaned, her eyes blurring, and she crossed out what she had been writing. She initialed it, and started over.

Don spun to look at her. "Having fun?" he inquired dully.

"A bundle. You?"

Don made a snarling sound as he looked dejectedly at the papers. Colby jogged back over, after his seventeenth coffee break. "God," Don mumbled. Megan kept watching him. She sensed he was about to crack any moment. _She_ was about to crack any moment. Writing up statements and checking over the case files wasn't exactly thrilling to any of them. And after a pretty simple case, talking about the details was beyond tedious. She slammed her file shut. If it was possible to kill a piece of paper, she wanted to know now.

A ripping sound came from behind her. David had crumpled up a piece of paper and was looking for the shredder. "You can't throw that out," Don said, lacking conviction of any kind.

David shrugged. "Anyone close to done?"

"No," Colby replied. "Not even past starting."

"Great." Don sighed heavily and checked his watch. "How about we just go home?'

"Don't we have to finish our paperwork?" Megan demanded. "If I remember correctly, you said that we have to get everything done in one sitting."

"As soon as possible after the case," Colby added. He had spent many hours, later than the rest of them, trying to figure out what made the rest of them move so quickly. Megan and Don could run through their paperwork in less than half the time he did.

"Now I'm telling you to home. Enjoy turkey or whatever." Don stood up, glaring at all of them. "I'm not leaving unless you get out of here. Merrick will just have to wait for our final reports."

Megan slowly got out of her chair, feeling the tingle from sitting still for so long. "You're being very pushy tonight," she said calmly.

"Don't even try," he warned.

"We all don't love getting profiled, Reeves," Colby commented.

"Aww," she kidded. "Too bad, because there's stuff I could tell you that would blow you out of the water."

"Fascinating," Don murmured, shepherding his agents to the elevator.

"It is." She smiled at them. "It really is."


	15. Visions

**Disclaimer: **Some dialogue and the case details are borrowed from _Mind Games_, written by Andrew Dettmann.

**A/N: **Alerts are back up! After I did my happy dance, I decided to pump out another chapter. So here you go!

Chapter 15: Visions

**March, 2006**

Megan shut the files she was working on, and put them away. Usually, after a case she felt relieved, but right now, she felt like something was incomplete.

Laughing at Colby's comments on her ability to fly through the paperwork, she bade good-night to the rest of the team, and slipped out of the office as quietly as she had arrived, twelve hours earlier. Don gave her a strange look as she left, clearly remembering her strange behaviour during the case. She didn't blame him.

Kraft's words had jarred her normally confident frame of mind. She didn't believe in the psychic world and definitely hadn't believed him about anything up until he had made the comments about her father and her childhood. That was when she started to think that maybe she was wrong. Those were facts she had declined to share with anyone, not even those who had observed them. The only people who knew the whole story were Milo, who she doubted would cross the country to speak to a psychic who might work with his estranged daughter, and herself. She hadn't met Samuel Kraft until this case. Clearly, Kraft wasn't a total fraud, as Charlie suspected, because he knew…stuff about her. And knowing the fact that this psychic had this deeper knowledge of her, was unnerving. There was something about this whole case that made her wary, and she knew it had everything to do with Kraft's involvement. Dump Charlie's animosity towards Kraft into the mix, and it had been hard to keep on pounding through.

She hit the button for the ground floor of the building while on the elevator. Then, Megan leaned against the wall, also having that drained, exhausted feeling she always suffered when she had been breathing, thinking, living her current case. She was single-minded, driven to finish what she started on. That much had changed since her youth: she was less motivated then. Now, she dove in anything she took on. For this case, she had jumped and almost changed her mind halfway down, because of Kraft.

Diving was as equally dangerous as leaning back and waiting.

The elevator dinged, letting her know that she had arrived at the first floor. Megan waited a beat, struggling to open her tired eyes. Her body was wiped, but her mind was being typically Megan, analyzing and racing, forcing her to stay awake.

She strolled through the lobby, smiling and saying good-night to various agents, techies and secretaries. An FBI office was one of the few places where people would be coming and going in the early evening, and late into the night and early morning..

"Megan." She turned at the sound of her name, spotting don jogging towards her. She waited, pretending to tap her foot in annoyance.

"Hey, Don."

"Hey." They continued walking. "Are you alright, Megan?" She gave him a sideways look. "You just seemed a little off your game lately – kinda like something was there."

"It's nothing, Don." She wrapped her coat around her body a little tighter. "I'm taking care of it. Why?"

He shrugged. "I'm asking as a friend."

"As a friend, I say thanks."

"I'll see you tomorrow." Don patted her on the shoulder and started for his SUV. She smiled with a hint of amusement; he was probably headed to the Eppes house – he had muttered something about Alan making some good meal and he'd been checking his watch more and more frequently as the closing-up and the paperwork for the case had whittled down.

"Bright and early," she called to his retreating back. His laugh was genuine as he climbed in his SUV. She watched Don pull out of the parking lot, then reached for her purse. She sifted through objects and pulled out her keys. Hitting a button on the tiny remote, and unlocking the doors, she climbed in, chucked the purse on the passenger seat and swung her long legs into place. Megan stuck the keys in the ignition, hesitating. She started the car and almost promptly shut the engine off. Perhaps she wasn't ready to go just yet, not when that feeling of incompleteness engulfed her soul.

Megan put her hand back n the keys, thinking about starting her Acura and going home to watch TV and eat some leftover takeout – whatever was left from the past week or so of quick meals, crashing into bed, going back to work and repeating the cycle the next day. She took her hand of the keys, twisting her rings in thought. She placed her hand on the keys yet again and took it off. Finally, instead of sitting there in hesitation and uncertainty, she pulled out her cell phone and slowly dialed phone number, her finger pressing each button with an uncharacteristic worry and usteady fingers.

Charlotte picked up on the eight ring. Her voice sounded groggy. "Hello?"

"Mom, it's Megan."

"Megan?" Charlotte's voice took on a note of alarm, putting two and two together and coming up with a solid five. "Is there something wrong? Did you get hurt? Are you okay?"

"No, I'm fine." It was always the same; no matter how old she was – if she didn't provide an immediate explanation for why she was calling, Charlotte worried. "I, uh – oh." Megan took a look at the clock on her phone and doing a simple calculation for the time difference. "Sorry, I just finished a case, I didn't realize…is, um, Dad there?"

"Dad?" Charlotte needed a few seconds to process what she was hearing from her youngest daughter. "No, your father's out. He's at the club again."

"No, of course he's at the club." Megan sighed, feeling an echo of disappointment. "Where else would he be at this hour?"

Charlotte laughed. "A rhetorical question. He has his cell phone with him; I can get him to call you from there."

"No, no," she replied. "It's not that important. I'll call back." _Unlikely that I'll forget to call back, likely that I won't be able to summon the courage to again. It's kind of sad when you're greatest fear of the time being is your own father. I'm an FBI agent, for crying out loud._

"You just got off a case?" Charlotte asked sharply. "I don't suppose you've eaten a decent meal in days. Try to have a good supper, Megan, and not more takeout Chinese." She could hear Charlotte's nose wrinkling in distaste, thinking of what Megan would have for supper.

"No, I will," she promised, still enjoying the motherly commands.

"A proper meal is important. You should know that, since you require the energy for your job." The underlying worry had emerged more than ever, and Charlotte was in her lecture mode. She didn't necessarily approve of the work Megan loved, but at the end of the day, it would be nice if Megan came home unscathed and was able to make a phone call herself. "Clear your fridge of those awful takeout containers I know live in there."

"I will." Megan let a hint of laughter shine through her words, a message to her mother that she fine, alive and healthy. "You get some sleep."

"That would be a good idea." Neither of the mentioned how Milo would end up clattering around the Reeves house when he finally did come home from the club. Every time he did that without fail, and without fail, every single time, he managed to wake someone up inside the house. Megan had run out of numbers to count the amount of times she had lain awake, just waiting for the noise to stop, telling herself it would only be one more night after this. It was far easier to lie to herself than it was to everyone else around her. When she was younger, she had mastered the ability to lie to herself seamlessly. Later on, she lied to her parents. Now, she just let it go.

Charlotte continued, "Have a good-night, Megan. Get some sleep, and more than four hours of it."

"You too." Megan waited until Charlotte had hung up and then snapped her phone shut, staring at the numbers on the clock. The glowing light seemed to mock her, as did he fact that Milo had not been home when she'd tried to reach him and cross the canyon between them. So far, she was halfway across, and after talking to her mother, interested in turning around and running back to the side where she had set up camp, far away from her father.

She made no movement to start the car, even though she was shivering in the cool air that was trapped inside it. Megan buttoned up her jacket fully, hoping that he thin fabric would somehow protect her from freezing in the car while she figured out what she was going to do. She tossed the cell phone back in her purse, not willing to look at it anymore.

Instead of feeling empty, she felt just plain weary, as if the months of working almost non-stop had decided to fall hard on her right now. Her arm felt heavy and slow as she reached for the ignition and just start the engine. While she was still pondering, she didn't want to be in silence any longer. Some radio station blared out, the loud volume making her jump, her sense having intensified because she was tired beyond belief. A loud yawn escaped her mouth, a hand automatically flying up to cover it.

She gripped the steering wheel, looking for something to hold onto. Her knuckles were white with the pressure she was applying to the wheel; something she found made them stiff instead of trembling. She flexed her hands, as her thoughts started to become clearer, and sentences picked themselves out of the murky pile they had formerly belonged to.

Samuel Kraft's words stuck in her head, swirling, drawing other memories out with them. Megan ignored the flashbacks and focused on Kraft's eerily correct words.

"_Your father…he always wanted a son, didn't he?"_

Yes. Milo had wanted a son. She was the substitute. And a kind of pathetic one, in her father's eyes. But how did he know that? Get the person to stop and listen to you; Kraft had certainly got her.

"_You were the youngest…you have three older sisters…"_

No matter what anybody had said to her, her firm belief was that being the youngest was the pits. In her professional opinion, anyway.

"_I'm surprised you still have doubts, Agent Reeves…"_

Her? Doubting him? Not anymore. For her, the test had been a formality. Kraft had convinced her wholly with the simple, scary statements he offered smoothly after she'd spent several minutes mocking him. For Charlie, the test was a matter of exposing the psychic as a fraud. She doubted he would've been so quick to brush Kraft off if it had been Charlie who had his secrets exposed, even if it was only to glass walls and herself.

_He nodded at her, hesitating before following Don. "Agent Reeves," he said slowly, before leaving. She stared at him, blinking only once, while Charlie watched the exchange with some lingering doubt._

Her title had never had quite so much subtext underneath it, until he had used her title as his parting words to her. She knew he knew about what she done, where she had been, and how she had tried to pull it together, for the sake of her own sanity. It was disconcerting to have someone know these things about. Charlie had tried to talk her out of listening to Kraft several times over, but…she had decided on listening to Kraft to some degree. She was maybe being ridiculous, but whatever. That was the way it was. She needed to believe in something, just to get through the case.

She drove the car a few feet, stopped it, and took the keys out of the ignition. _Completely insane, Megan._ She reached for her cell phone again, and searched for the number she had programmed there, even if she had never thought she was going to use it. She pressed the button to dial it, waited for the rings. A computerized voice informed her that Milo Reeves could not answer at this time, and she hung up, tossing the cell phone away from her and wondering why she had even bothered.

* * *

**TBC**

* * *


	16. Parallel Lines

**Disclaimer: **Dialogue and situations from this chapter have been borrowed from _Two Daughters_, which was written by Ken Sanzel. I have taken some liberties with dialogue, as I couldn't find any transcripts or detailed quotes.

I have also borrowed from "Winter Wonderland," by Felix Bernard and Richard B. Smith.

**A/N: **I apologize for the delay in updates. And again, I thank everyone for their reviews.

And this chapter is a little more language-y than usual. Just a warning.

Chapter 16: Parallel Lines

**September, 2006**

Driving, with a gun to her head. Then tied up in trunk, after being knocked out. Now, she was handcuffed to the pipe against the wall of the hotel room. Sneaking a look at Crystal, who was on the phone outside, she pulled at the pipeNothing. She tried again, gritting her teeth and putting more strength on it. Again, no movement. For a third time, she rattled the pipe, trying to get loose. Crystal craned her neck, spotting Megan's efforts and abruptly hung up.

_Shit.

* * *

_

"I left home at sixteen," Megan explained, looking out from her mass of hair.

"Yeah? How long did it take for them to drag you back?" Crystal asked. She stared at Megan, which would have been disconcerting, if part of Megan's job description hadn't been to intimidate suspects by staring.

"I didn't go back,' she replied. "But you know, things got a little crazy and I had a wake up call. And I had to decide which way the rest of my life was gonna go."

Crystal sighed, as if trying to get her mind around the fact that Megan had voluntarily pulled herself together. "Don't you ever miss _crazy_?"

Megan laced her fingers together. "Being sixteen and not knowing where the day was going to take me?" Closing her eyes, she thought about it. Sixteen, stealing fifty bucks from her job as a cashier to cover her rent; almost nineteen, when she blew the last of her paycheque on getting drunk after getting kicked out of her apartment, and again after dropping out of college, that time actually passing out. She thought of the first time she slept with a guy, the period she spent living in an alley and the time when she finally stopped smoking – sixteen, the summer she was seventeen, and before her high school graduation, respectively. "Yeah, sometimes."

God knows why she missed that uncertainty.

* * *

She was fired up now. How could Crystal believe that it was right to take her daughter, which she didn't even know, away from her family? It was insane. "What kind of a life do you have to offer? You gonna take her on the road with you robbing liquor stores?" She pulled at the handcuffs as she stood.

Crystal grabbed for the gun. A detached part of Megan made the brilliantly snide, "_Hmm. Maybe that's some kinda underused maternal instinct? You were attacking her mothering, after all._" She told herself to shut the hell up.

She judged the distance between her and Crystal, pointing the gun at Megan's head. Megan chose to try and keep alive for a few more minutes and defended herself the best way she knew how, physical combat. Crystal fell to the floor from the blow that Megan's boot gave.

Gun, gun – oh, God, where was it? She lunged for the cool metal but Crystal tried to knock her out of the way. Megan tried again, this time firing it. The shatter of a lamp was the last thing she remembered before Crystal smacked her across the face with it.

That, and the fact that she wanted to throw up.

* * *

She was going to die. _She was going to die_. Hell, she might as well stop breathing right now, and save crystal the trouble. With the pressure of Crystal's arm across her neck, she felt that it wouldn't be too hard.

Was that Colby over there? And David? She thought so, but her eyes were burning too much to tell for sure.

_Fuck. _Crystal had just chucked the grenade. She was as good as dead, now. _David, Colby, do something, dammit!_

Megan was being dragged across the floor now. A sharp pain went through the top of her left arm, as detached Megan decided to stop being unhelpful, and recognized that it was her brachial artery. Now she really was going to die. Bleed out, and die.

She tried to keep conscious, but it was becoming too hazy. This time, she really was drifting.

* * *

First, and foremost, details of the case came first. Megan used every last ounce of composure in her body to tell them that Crystal was going to go after her daughter. A black market baby. They fell silent, processing and fitting this fact into the case. Now was a good as time as any.

"Hey guys," she began, trying to keep her voice level, "before this gets away from us, I just wanted to say thanks very much for the really good timing." The level tone idea had just been tossed out the window, as tears threatened to choke her.

Don grinned at her, trying to lighten her mood. "What do you mean?" he chided. "It was all you, kick ass with that gun shot. Come on."

She half-laughed, half-cried. "It just felt like a really good time for a Hail Mary there, but I was so lucky that you two were in the area."

"Yeah, well, it wasn't all luck," Colby admitted.

Megan blinked, a futile attempt to keep the tears in. Her voice was still teary, however, as she tried to smile once more. "Oh, my friend Charlie." She should've known that Charlie and his math would come through. She resolved to try and take more of an interest in his explanations.

David nodded. "Yeah, he invented a whole new search pattern; I think he's calling it the Reeves Variation."

She was definitely paying more attention to Charlie's explanations from now on. "Oh, man," she breathed, "You get kidnapped for the day, you miss a lot around here."

Oh, so true.

* * *

It was natural to have some form of post-traumatic stress disorder, even if she had been only kidnapped for fourteen hours or something like that. Megan took a deep breath. She was fine. She was in her own apartment, her own bed. She had a few days off from work, while she and the rest of the team waited to get cleared.

She couldn't relax.

Megan climbed out of bed, wrapping a blanket around her, and padding out to her living room. The light on her answering machine was blinking. She had been inside the apartment ever since she had come home, and couldn't figure out when a call came. She hit the button.

"_Megan? It's your mother._" Charlotte's slightly anxious voice filled the room, and Megan winced at the volume. "_I'm just calling to see how you are. It's been a few weeks. I'll call tomorrow._"

She sunk into a chair, making no moves to reach the phone, even though it was ten in the morning there. There were some things you just didn't tell your mother.

Especially, if ten hours earlier, you thought you were going to die, in the hands of someone who could've been you.

* * *

**December, 2006**

"_Sleigh bells ring, are you listenin', in the lane, snow is glistenin'…"_

Megan leaned her temple against the glass of the window, hand clutching her still untouched Christmas punch.

"Reflecting on our festive landscape?" David asked, carrying his own punch.

"Oh, yeah gotta love the palm trees," Megan replied. She couldn't see any, but she knew they were around. "It adds to the white sandy beaches and pretty blue oceans that always make me think of candy canes and presents."

David tilted his head at her snappish tone. "Cheery, aren't you?"

"Yeah. Sure." Megan sighed and sniffed the drink.

"It's not milk," David told her, speaking of her habit.

"I know." She sniffed it again. "What is in this?"

"No clue." David turned around. "Colby, man, you know what's in the punch?"

Colby's cup was almost drained. "Kinda strong is all I got."

Megan set her cup on a table. "Great."

"Relax, Megan," Colby replied. "It might help."

She shrugged. "Maybe." Her throat now felt tight, the reason for the monosyllabic answers. Megan had managed to ignore holidays for several years, until she had come to Los Angeles. The team, and by extension, Alan, Amita and Larry, really enjoyed them, and she had been drawn in. Usually, she pitched in and laughed just as hard as the rest of them, but her sentimental ways had decided to snatch the reins. It was pleasant, really.

_Admit it, you wanted to spend Christmas with Larry_, she told herself. _And he's up in space, while you're here._

"Hey, Don." Colby nodded at their boss. "What's in the punch?"

"Dad made it," Don replied, quickly. Megan raised her eyebrows, grinning slightly. "Don't start with me, Megan. There are a lot of windows in this solarium, and I'm a federal agent, in case you didn't know."

"You'd be able to hide the body without getting caught, huh?" Megan teased. "Aww, thanks for the season's greetings."

"I always try my best," he replied, patting her shoulder. "You look great tonight, Megan."

"Thanks."

"So, where's the mystery woman?" Colby asked, scanning the room.

"Around," Don muttered vaguely. Megan's radar went up.

"So, uh, Don," she said quickly, "I like the mixture of Chanukah and Christmas." Stupid thing to say, but desperate times call for a quick change in subject. _And who said it had to be good? Just has to work._

"Yeah, we always celebrated both for some reason." He cleared his throat. "What did you celebrate?"

"Christmas," Megan answered. "A loud, crazy affair."

"I loved Christmas as a kid," David stated. "Best time of the year. Everything seemed to go right for once."

"More exciting," Colby agreed. "Crazy, fruity town festivals that my parents made me go to. My brother and I could never win that snowman building contest."

"Snowman building contest?" Don smirked. "I should've gone to my grandmother's in Hicksville, Northern California a little more often."

"Nothing beats the Midsummer's Eve festival." It was Colby's turn to smirk.

"Now you're kidding, man." David looked incredulous.

Megan zoned out. Her eyes went back to the window, taking in the serenity of the outdoors and the light and chatter of the room that was reflected back at her. Contrast. She thought back about twenty years, when Jessica had aspired to be an artist and had gone around painting everything, usually overstating the contrast between two shades. Even the difference Megan's chipped, pale pink nail polish and her pale skin from months of being cooped up indoors. She wondered if Jess painted any more. Probably not, with a small boy. She had been the only one who had ever displayed any kind of artistic talent in the family. Even Megan's handwriting was a disaster.

_Score one, Megan, you almost managed to forget why you're feeling so down this year. _She stopped talking to herself, knowing exactly how that would turn out: not so good. Maybe she had multiple personalities and that's why she talked to herself all the time.

More likely, she was getting drunk from sniffing the punch.

"Megan." Don was looking at her expectantly. She tuned back in, seeing that David and Colby had already disappeared from the cluster they had previously formed. "Pardon?"

"I'm just gonna -"

"Oh. Yeah, go ahead. I'm good."

"You sure?"

Megan laughed. "Yes, _Mom_. Go. This is your party, mill about. I'm a big girl."

"Keep on telling yourself that."

"You watch your back, Eppes!" she warned.

Her drink was still on the table. The dark red liquid, some completely unnatural colour, called her name. It didn't smell any less potent than before, but what the hell? She took a sip of it, cringing at the taste.

Charlie joined her by the window, his cheeks flushed. He'd been in the punch too, clearly. And where was Amita? She smiled at him slightly, and Charlie flushed even more. "Hey, Charlie," she said, fiddling with the clasp of her bracelet.

"Hey." He gestured to the view, now star-studded and dark. "How long have you been here?"

"A while." Megan wrapped her arms around herself protectively. 'I'm not really in the celebrating mood."

"No?"

"Not even as a kid."

"Huh." Charlie fell silent, just watching the world outside with her. The quiet fell over them. It was nice.

He broke their comfortable silence after a few minutes. She almost regretted it. "You really miss Larry."

"Yeah," she agreed quietly. "Yeah. I really do."


	17. Just Smile

**A/N: **Last chapter…thank you, everyone who reviewed, favourited, etc. I'm very grateful.

Chapter 17: Just Smile

**May, 2007**

Home. A simple word, yet tossed around so carelessly by most people. Yet Megan feared she hadn't used it enough in her life. But now she was going home. Home was a two-bedroom apartment ten minutes from the FBI office in Los Angeles. In some ways, home included the FBI office. Sometimes, it included the Eppes house, or her favourite places to eat.

However, home didn't consist of material goods – or the mold that she was sure was growing on the takeout in her fridge or the stack of books she was never going to read. It was more a feeling, the comfort and contentment that took over her senses. Home was lying on the grass, looking at the stars with Larry, or spending some off-time with the team.

She sighed, sitting on the floor to find some of her clothes. God, she could be such a slob sometimes. Her hotel room looked like hell – even thought it had been supposedly cleaned every day of her stay there. Oh, well the DOJ was footing the bill. She could care less. She was going home.

It was a good feeling, to be just so happy about something so small. If Megan wanted to be realistic, she hadn't been feeling very happy before being forced to join the task force, and having to leave had shaken her even more than she already had been. The last while – she was upset. She was upset that she wasn't home to greet Larry when he landed. She was upset that she had watched the shuttle come down on a TV in a hotel room, crying and knowing that someone would have to tell him that she was gone. She was upset that she could barely concentrate while working and that she'd been told more than once to shape up. She was a decorated agent. She should know how to compartmentalize. She _knew _how to compartmentalize. She was amazing at it. So why couldn't she shove everything aside _now_ and focus?

No matter. She was done with this. She could get on a plane and escape. Megan smiled at the crumpled blouse in her hand. _She was going home_.

* * *

Silence. For some reason, the section of the airport she was in was silent. What the hell? Every other encounter Megan had with an airport involved chatter, mind-numbing, headache-inducing chatter. It drove her crazy. Of course, she usually ended up with a two AM flight, so she was forced to deal with the incessant chatter on little to no sleep. On the way out here – oh, Lord, she would've had to arrest herself for murdering the bratty little kid two seats over. Devil child.

Her heels seemed to click along quite loudly as she walked. The silence was even more irritating then, because she felt self-conscious. Megan smiled wryly to herself. She was definitely off-balance, because a normal, everyday Megan Reeves would've just kept striding along, instead of slowing down in a vain attempt to quiet the clicking of her shoes.

It wasn't a two AM flight, but a five AM flight. She'd already called Don to let him know she would be back the next day – she was hoping she wouldn't come back in the middle of a case, and it sounded like they were doing paperwork, so Megan was crossing her fingers. However, LA being LA, it was likely that they would have a case by the time she went in to the office tomorrow.

In a weird extension of her newfound joy, she was happy to think about going into the office. She wanted to say hi, get to work, listen to some math lectures, and check to make sure that someone had bothered to clear out the break room's fridge. She doubted it – the milk she had checked on the last day she was there was probably still in there. That made her cringe, but she wasn't particularly worried. If it meant she could make fun of Don and Colby for putting sour milk (like they'd have even noticed) in their coffees, then so be it. Who was she to mess with fortune for giving her a prime opportunity?

Megan stopped to check the time of her flight off the screen in the main lobby. She squinted, not bothering to search for her glasses. Great…her flight was delayed by three hours. She gritted her teeth, to keep from yelling at the screen – because yelling at inanimate objects was just so sane – and whirled on her heel. No trying to keep quiet this time. She was annoyed and wanted the world to know. Childish? Yes. But she wasn't interested in caring.

She plunked herself on a bench, dropping her bags on the ground, and closing her eyes. Fatigue settled in on her features. Her whole body ached with weeks of no sleep, worry, and sadness.

"You look like you don't want to be here," a voice said, with a trace of amusement. Megan saw a pair of teenage girls across from her, one with blond hair, and the other with black.

She decided to answer. "Not really."

"How long have you got to wait?" asked the blond girl. Megan now knew the other girl had spoken first.

"About six hours," Megan replied. "That's what I get for coming here early. How long have you been waiting?"

"Seven hours and forty-three minutes," the dark-haired girl said. "That's what we get for letting my mother book the tickets."

"Here's to hoping your flight comes early," Megan told the pair, getting up. "Bye."

The blond girl grinned. "Same to you."

She picked up her bags, for some reason, pondering the girls. She didn't know them, they didn't know here – yet they knew something about her. They saw something. She didn't know what. But she got that feeling from them. Introspective teenagers were a rare find.

Megan stopped outside of a coffee shop in the airport lobby. She pulled out her ticket, and stared at the name. She had never been especially bright when she was so tired, but now she was cursing her stupidity. God, why hadn't she processed that earlier? _Moron!_

She checked her watch. If she got a taxi over there…she could be back here in perfect time for the flight, after a visit. Megan slung her duffel over her shoulder and ran for the exit.

* * *

Impatience. She was naturally impatient, having come by it through her father. She hated waiting for anything, no matter what it was and whatever situation that made her wait. So, even after she had left the airport, Megan was still caught up in the jittering motions of being impatient. Her foot was tapping its way in circles on the floor of the taxi. It was a short ride. But she was jittery, and she hadn't even had any coffee yet.

* * *

Uncertainty. That's what lay in her path as she took careful, deliberate steps up the immaculate walkway to the Reeves house. She was uncertain if she would be let in – which was an irrational fear, but that was not the point. She was uncertain, and afraid, and felt like she was sixteen again, staring at her house and feeling miserable.

It was funny. The Reeves mansion had been monumental to her for so long that the scale, in her mind, had grown. Megan managed a smile to herself, as she eyed the door. Now it was monumental. It had been modeled as some sort of Greek art imitation, or maybe Roman…she had no idea. In her not-so professional opinion, it was ugly. In her parents' and their friends' collective opinions, it was attractive and proper and whatever else they wanted to call it. She reached for the doorbell.

She waited, her impatience kicking in again, as what seemed eternity passed. The door swung open, and a tall, graying man stared back at her. Megan swallowed. "Hi, Dad," she half-whispered.

Milo blinked at her. "Hello."

"I was looking to…" She cleared her throat and started again. Suddenly telling her father that she was only looking for her mother was a good idea. "I…"

"Yes, Megan?" The cold edge was there. It sparked a flare of anger in the back of her mind.

"I don't know why we are the way we are," she began. "No, I do. We were at odds. I pulled and so did you. But you know what, Dad, I spent – spend – a lot of time wondering why. I have friends that have great relationships with their fathers."

"Megan -"

She held up a hand. "No, I get to talk. I get paid to do that." She let out a breath. "I know I killed any chance we might've had, by being…me. But I am asking you; please, to at least be a little more open-minded." She offered a small smile. "I've come a long way from that little girl who skipped ballet because she could, Dad."

Milo studied Megan's face. He nodded fractionally. "I know."

She stared at him for a second. Then she smiled, the first genuine smile for her father in quite some time. He found himself ready to return it.

* * *

So...this is the end...which makes me kind of sad. Again, thank you to my reviewers, especially - I really appreciate the encouragement. I've got more ideas swirling around other stories...so give me a few weeks, if you're interested.


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